Zornhut
by julien-schu
Summary: A Fire Emblem Rekka no Ken fanfic. Consider this fanfic full of spoilers for the game, especially for the support conversations. Incomplete.
1. Chapter 1

**_Zornhut_**

* * *

Author's note: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.

* * *

He liked routine. 

Just like almost every other day, he woke at dawn. Careful not to wake his other companions, who were still sleeping soundly, he took off his nightshirt, reached for a spare shirt in his pack and put it on. Finished, he buckled on his swordbelt and slipped out of the room.

He made his way downstairs and out the front door, nodding in greeting to the innkeeper at the counter as he passed by. He walked to a small clearing nearby that was clearly set up as an area for sparring sessions.

Just like almost every other day, he began his swordplay exercises, the way he was taught from the age of twelve. He drew his sword slowly from its scabbard, took a long, deep breath and raised the blade to the first guard position.

_First, the Ox._

He could almost hear his old arms-master, Hans, lecturing him on how to form each of the stances.

_"Your left leg forward, then raise your sword as if you were cutting upward. Your sword is to be held to the right, with the hilt back by the shoulder, and the point of your blade aimed at your opponent's head."_

His body moved smoothly into the familiar stance, and he waited a swift moment before he launched into a thrust at his imaginary opponent. In his mind's eye, his opponent defends against the attack by deflecting it with a shield. He moved back and swung an overhead blow aimed at the top of his opponent's head, who responded by raising both sword and shield to cover. Now that he has forced his opponent into a vulnerable position, he brought his blade in a downward cut, finishing off with a thrust to his opponent's chest. He turned around and returned to his original stance before he took another deep breath and moved on to the next guard position.

_Second, the Plow._

_"Put your right foot forward. Lower your sword to the level of your waist, with the point aimed at your enemy's throat. Do not hold it so that the hilt is at the center of your legs, but hold it more off to the side."_

He held his ground and his imaginary enemy launched a backhand swing, and he lifted his sword to meet the blow with the flat of his own blade. His opponent's flank exposed, he made a forward thrust with his sword, striking in the upper torso. Done, he returned to the second stance and held it for a long moment to catch his breath before he continued.

_Third, the Fool._

_"Lower the point of your blade to the ground, keeping the point between the legs. Your opponent will think you are open to attack, whereas this is not so, for this guard position allows you to counter-attack swiftly."_

His imaginary opponent rushed at him with a full thrust, which he countered by taking a step back, at the same time raising his sword to deflect the blow, careful to do so with the flat of his own blade. Now that his opponent had over-extended the thrust, he swung his blade in a downward arc aimed at his opponent's sword arm. This time, he did not return to the third position, but went on to the next, for no one will be fooled into the same situation twice.

_Fourth, the Guard of Wrath._

_"Stand with your left leg forward, your sword raised and held near your right shoulder. Point your sword up, then slowly allow it to drop slightly so it slopes back over your shoulder, the point aimed downwards."_

From the stance, he launched into a downward cut, but redirected his strike in mid-swing into a horizontal slice directed at his opponent's head, who barely managed to deflect the attack. He automatically took a quick step back, then aimed a quick thrust at his enemy's torso. Again, his attack is deflected, but he moved back and struck at his enemy's exposed leg.

He returned to the first guard position and held it for a few long moments, before he finally lowered his sword.

_"Very good, young master."_

Just like almost every other day.

Raven, formerly known as Raymond of the now-defunct House Cornwell, sheathed his sword and walked back to the inn.

----

"Finally," Hector sighed and stared at his meal, "real food. I am _sick_ of eating pack rations."

"Agreed," Eliwood said. "This is a nice change from our usual fare. I do appreciate Lowen's cooking, as good at it is, but if I have to eat another hard biscuit again..." He shuddered. Lyndis, who had her mouth full, merely nodded her assent.

The party were at an inn instead of camping out in the open for a change, much to everyone's relief. The weather had been dreadful for the past few days, with heavy rain and even heavier rain taking turns. When they had arrived at the village, all wet and miserable, Serra announced that if she did not get a nice warm bath, a good meal and a proper bed for at least one night the party would have to go on without her, for she was tired of it all. Not surprisingly, Eliwood readily agreed, since he knew that everyone else was probably thinking of the same thing.

It was decided that they would all stay at the local inn for the night and the day after, as they needed to restock on supplies and not to mention that they also needed a well-deserved rest, for even the knights' mounts and Florina's pegasus seemed exhausted. The night passed uneventfully and this morning the party sat at the main table in the dining area, enjoying a good breakfast.

"I'm sure," Hector said between mouthfuls of beef stew, "everyone is enjoying this."

Lyndis looked around, and frowned when she realised some people were missing. "Almost everyone. Where is Matthew?"

Hector made a vague gesture with his hand. "Oh, he finished before you came down. He's gone off to do some sneaky spy things, I suppose. Or stealing things. I hope he has the courtesy to stick his acquisitions in his own pack instead of mine this time."

"Our strategist is missing as well."

"Mark's still upstairs in bed, Lady Lyndis," Wil said from the other side of the table, "I wanted to wake him up, but Canas said I should let him sleep."

Canas, a little flustered, said, "He looked exhausted, milady, and I thought that he would appreciate an extra hour or two in bed."

"I see. Wil, could you take a plate of food upstairs for him when you finish?"

"Of course, Lady Lyndis."

"It's all right, I'm already here." Mark padded to the table, rubbing his eye sleepily with his hand and took the empty seat next to Wil. "Good morning," he mumbled.

"You look terrible," Canas said.

"I feel even worse." The tactician grimaced slightly. "But all I need is some breakfast and I shall be fine." He reached for some bread and cheese from the platter set on the table. It didn't take him long to finish, and he took another piece of cheese before he stood and said, "If milords and milady would give me leave, I would like to go and gather some information and make arrangements to replenish some of our food supplies."

"Of course," Hector said, nodding. "Oh, wait for someone to finish his breakfast and take him with you. Matthew says he doubts that the Black Fang are here, but there is no harm in taking precautions. I do not like the idea of any of us going out alone."

"Hector, you let Matthew go out alone," Eliwood reminded him.

"Matthew wouldn't have listened to me in the first place, so I didn't bother. I told you I always get stuck with the lousy henchmen."

Raven pushed his plate aside. "I'm done here, Mark. I'll go with you. I need to find someone to retool my armour straps anyway." He got up, nodded at the three nobles before he and Mark headed for the door and left.

"Now that's an enigma."

"What is?" Eliwood asked.

"Not what, whom." Hector waved his hand in a vague gesture towards the direction of the closing door. "Him."

"Raven? Or Mark?"

Hector swallowed a mouthful of bread and cheese before he answered. "Raven. The young lad's--"

"_'Young lad'_? He's probably about your age, Hector," Lyndis said, chuckling.

"Lyn, will you please stop that? Anyway, like I said before, I find that young man a bit of an enigma."

Eliwood finished his meal and pushed his plate aside. "Oh? How so?" he asked, curious.

"Have you seen him in combat? How he fights?"

"Not I," Lyndis said, shaking her head, "at least, not much. I have seen enough however, to know that he's not likely to take his comrade's head off when he swings his weapon, unlike certain others I will not name."

"Oh, don't you start about that again! I may have taught myself to fight and my technique is not as polished and as pretty as yours, but my skill with the axe has gotten us this far!" Hector protested, more than slightly miffed.

"Now, children," Eliwood said, "let's all play nicely." Hector grumbled something under his breath, while Lyndis rolled her eyes. Eliwood resisted the urge to smile and continued, "To answer your question, Hector, I have seen Raven's skils in battle. We fought side by side in that last skirmish with the Black Fang."

"Well?"

"Well, his swordplay is admirable. I do not excel in the use of great swords--I prefer rapiers and lighter blades myself--but I've learned enough from my arms-masters to know what to look for."

"And?"

"And what, Hector?"

"Don't you find his technique... interesting?" Hector persisted.

"Hmm, now that you mentioned it..." Eliwood looked thoughtful for a moment. "His style is rather... unorthodox. But that is to be expected, he is a mercenary." He shrugged. "And you know how mercenaries tend to pick up a few tricks here and there."

"Well, yes, but that was not what I meant."

"What did you mean then, Hector?" Lyndis asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Am I sensing jealousy here?"

Hector snorted. "No, I am most certainly not jealous--"

"Peace! Both of you!" Eliwood pleaded. "Please Hector, tell us then, what did you mean by your questions?" he asked, eager to prevent another wrangle between his two friends.

"I noticed," Hector said, "that most of the time his swordplay is very well what I expected from a mercenary. Like Eliwood mentioned, he just blends in all the things he's learned, but haven't you noticed? Sometimes his footwork, stances and deflections are just exactly like what our arms-masters tried to teach me--and yes, Lyn, I hardly listened to them, I was more interested in axes, not swords. And I swear that some of the swordplay exercises he does when he's practicing by himself are identical to the ones we were taught."

Lyndis shook her head slightly, her expression puzzled. "I do not follow you, Hector."

"What Hector is trying to say, Lyn," Eliwood explained, "is that he thinks that Raven's been taught by well-trained arms-masters just as we were. Well, as I was, anyway. Arms-masters you will hardly find in regular mercenary companies, but the ones you find at military academies, or at noble holdings."

She nodded in understanding. "Ah, so you think our Raven here is nobility of a sort? Well, why didn't you just say so?"

Hector pretended he had not heard her and instead, asked Eliwood, "Well, what say you, Eliwood? Do you concur with my guess?"

"Well..." Eliwood hesitated.

"He does have the character of a lordling," Lyndis observed. "The other day, Rebecca spoke to me about how he was, and I quote, _'all gallant and dashing'_ when he assisted her on the battlefield. Wil speaks highly of him as well."

"Really? Now that is surprising... gallant and dashing indeed. I never would have thought of him as such, especially how he's always got that stern look on his face."

"It's all right Hector," said Lyndis sweetly as she patted him on the shoulder, "I doubt that I will ever think of you as gallant and dashing either."

"Stop that! Oh, not _you_ too, Eliwood!" Hector glared at his close friend, who was nearly doubled up in laughter.

"I'm sorry," Eliwood gasped in between laughs. He gave one last chuckle before he spoke. "Well, I shouldn't be too surprised if our Raven is of noble blood."

"Why so? I thought that it is uncommon for nobility to end up as mercenaries," Lyndis said, curious.

"Uncommon yes, but not unheard of. I doubt that the heir or a second son would readily accept a life as a mercenary, but a third, fourth or fifth son? With no property to inherit, a military career in the army or as a mercenary does sound promising." Eliwood smiled. "Either that or the monastery. Or for some young lordlings, a career as a tactician is a better alternative than the cowl."

Lyndis raised her eyebrow in surprise. "Mark?"

Eliwood stared at her. "Why, you mean you didn't know?"

Lyndis shook her head. "He did not volunteer much information about himself when he assisted me in Caelin. I didn't think it was my place to ask."

Eliwood made a rueful smile. "I had a few opportunities to sit down and talk with him. He told me that he's from one of the minor Houses of Etruria, he's the youngest of five siblings and he wasn't all that interested in swordplay as a boy and was more fascinated with military strategy instead. So his parents sent for the proper tutors and when he was of age, he left to further his training. Then he met you, Lyn."

"Interesting," Hector mused, "it seems that we're surrounded by enigmas. I wonder, if I were a strategist..."

"You wouldn't be a very good one, I can assure you of that!" Lyndis said, grinning.

"Now wait just a moment--"

Eliwood decided that it was far easier for him to leave the two to yet another one of their little squabbles instead of trying to make peace between them, and so he did, chuckling softly to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Zornhut: Chapter 2_**

* * *

Author's note: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark. Furthermore, while the game never mentions of any armour for most of the characters, I simply cannot imagine anyone walking into battle without wearing armour of any sort, so I've given some of the characters specific armour for this fic.

* * *

Raven was glad to leave the inn. While he had adjusted to the idea that he and Hector of Ostia would be fighting on the same side for this campaign, to have Hector in his presence--specifically, within his sword arm's reach--was a great test on his self-control. He was relieved when Hector's remark that Mark needed some company offered him a good excuse to leave the table at that instant. 

And he had not lied either, for he really did need to replace some of the straps and buckles on his brigandine that had gotten loose and worn.

A soft cough reminded him that he was not alone; Mark was lagging somewhat behind. He slowed his pace slightly to allow the tactician to catch up to him. Once they were a good distance away from the inn, Mark asked, "Shall we attend to my errands first, or yours?"

Raven shrugged. "Up to you."

"Yours first, then, since there's the smithy," Mark said, pointing to a small building nearby. There was a faint, but unmistakable clanging of hammer on anvil eminating from within the structure.

A youth stepped out of the doorway to greet them as they approached the smithy. The smith's son, or more likely his apprentice, Raven guessed. "Good morning, sirs," said the youth. "What can I do for you?"

"Do you do armouring work?" Raven asked.

"Yes, but you will have to speak to the master about it," the youth replied before he turned around to look at someone inside the smithy. "Master!" he called.

Some moments passed before a burly, middle-aged man wearing a smith's leather apron stepped out of the building. "Armour, eh?" he said. "Come in then, good sirs, and I'll see what I can do."

"How long will it take for you to replace some straps and buckles on a brigandine? And a few metal plates?" Raven asked when they were indoors, at the same time removing the cuirbouilli shoulder guard he wore.

"The straps and buckles will not take long, but as for the plates... I will have to see what needs to be done."

Raven shrugged off his coat, tossed the item of clothing to Mark and deftly unfastened the straps to his brigandine. Done, he handed it to the smith, who examined the rows of small metal plates lining the close-fitting light leather armour.

"Ah, only two plates missing, and a few loose... How soon do you want this done, sir?"

"As fast as you are able." He did not like having to go around unarmoured; it made him feel vulnerable, almost naked.

The smith frowned in thought. "Will an hour past noon be all right?"

"That's good enough for me." Raven put on his coat and strapped his shoulder guard back on before he gave the smith a handful of coins. "The rest will be paid when I return."

"Very well, good sir."

The two young men left the smithy and went around the village to take care of Mark's few tasks. It did not take them long; some time later they were finished and Raven decided that it was best to head back to the smithy to check on the work on his brigandine.

"It's already noon. No harm in checking up on the smith, he might have finished earlier than expected," Raven said when Mark asked him why they were not going back to the inn.

They were not far from the smithy when Raven halted his steps, frowning. His hearing was as sharp as a hare's and he thought he heard a low, murmuring sound--a sound he has heard before and does not particularly like.

"Trouble?" Mark asked.

Raven nodded. "Stay close," he ordered, and loosened his sword in its scabbard before resuming the walk back to the smithy. The faint sound grew louder and louder, and soon both of them were running towards their destination, alarmed.

It was the sound of a mob.

---

Hector sighed and stretched in his chair. The innkeeper had furnished them with the best room in the inn; while rather small, it was warm and comfortable. However, the cozy room he shared with Eliwood did not alleviate his current predicament.

He was bored.

The Ostian lordling turned to look at his close friend, who was sitting in bed, reading a book. "Eliwood, let's go and see the rest of the village."

Eliwood looked up from his book. "Hector," he said, "it's only a small farm village, there's not exactly much to see."

"Yes, but at least it's a nice change from just rotting in this small room."

"Well..." Eliwood hesitated, but Hector knew that his friend was far too good-natured to say no. "I suppose the fresh air would do me some good. Do you think Lyn would like to join us? Her room is across the hall--we can just knock on her door and ask."

"I think we're the only ones who are still in our rooms. Everyone else has gone out with their own business, or out sparring in the courtyard." Hector got up from his seat and brushed his clothes. "Shall we?"

"Let's." Eliwood led the way out of the room, down the stairway and out the front door.

The two lordlings had not gone far when they heard the sound of a rider approaching them from behind. They turned around and found Marcus riding at a canter towards them. "Is something amiss, Marcus?" Eliwood asked in concern when the older man caught up with them.

"Not at all, Lord Eliwood," Marcus answered, dismounting his horse, "I merely wanted to know where you are headed."

"Hector and I thought that we'd walk around and see what the rest of this place is like."

"I see. I will accompany you to the square at least, then. My horse needs to be re-shod; he's worn a shoe thin."

Hector smiled, seeing the resigned look on Eliwood's face.

"Ah... right. Uh, very well, Marcus."

"Come on then," Hector said, "let's hurry. If we linger here, Oswin will show up and will insist on following me around with the same excuse."

"Hector, Oswin doesn't have a horse."

"I know."

Eliwood chuckled.

They had walked for perhaps a quarter of an hour, passing by a few dwellings here and there; the owners were surprised by the sight of strangers, and noble ones, at that, in their village. "Peaceful," Marcus observed.

"Yes, and I am thankful for that. I'm not quite in the mood to bash heads," Hector said.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, Hector," Eliwood said, "look." He pointed at a crowd of twenty, perhaps thirty men not too far ahead. "From all the shouting that crowd is making, I doubt it's anything good."

Several boys ran past them, heading for the crowd. Hector grabbed one of the boys on the arm and asked him, "What's going on over there?"

"They're saying that Jerome, the smith's apprentice, stole from two men at the local tavern, sir," the boy replied hastily.

"A thief, then. No concern to us."

"Jerome's no thief! He wouldn't have done such a thing!" the boy protested, startling Hector. Hector loosened his hold; the boy squirmed away and ran off to join his companions, who could only watch in horror at the fate of their friend.

The crowd had apparently surrounded their quarry, and from all the clamour it was obvious they had started to hack away at the unfortunate soul with their fists and feet. The three men rushed immediately towards the rabble, intent on stopping the ugly scene when suddenly, a loud roar stunned everyone into silence.

---

"What in blazes is going on here?"

The loud babble from the crowd subsided to a few soft murmurs here and there, and the rabble parted to allow Raven to approach the young smith's apprentice. The boy crouched on his knees, bruised and battered, shivering in fright. "What's going on here, lad?" Raven asked, but the apprentice was far too shaken to give him an answer.

Two men stepped forward; Raven recognised them as the ones whom appeared to be leading the rabble. Both men had sullen, sly faces earlier when they were at the head of the crowd, but now the sly expressions were gone and they eyed him warily, unsure how to approach this interruption, one that was armed, no less. The taller of the two hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "Milord--" he began.

"I'm no lord," Raven snapped, "so forget the pleasantries and get on with it."

"Ah... the boy there has stolen from my brother and I, milord--I mean, sir."

Raven turned to the apprentice. "Is this true?"

The boy shook his head. "No, I swear it! I have done no such thing!"

"He denies the deed." Raven looked at the boy's accusers. "Well?"

"He lies!" said the other man angrily. "My purse still had some brass coins when we were at the tavern, but when I reached for it I found it empty, and I saw the boy running out the door! It had to be him!"

"A few brass pieces lost and you are ready to kill the first poor wretch you come across," said Raven, "and without any proof, no less."

"We still demand justice!"

Raven snorted. "You can demand nothing, you have no proof. And you're _drunk_. It's more likely you spent your coin and forgot," he snapped.

The two men stepped back and looked around for support of any kind from the crowd, but most of the rabble had slipped away in the heated exchange, thinking better of their actions. Only a few remained to stand their ground, and even those few looked as if they wished they had snuck away earlier with the rest.

"But what of our money?" asked the taller man stubbornly.

Raven drew a few coins from his own pouch and threw them to the ground in disgust. "There, that should be more than enough to replace your loss. Now leave."

"But--" the man began, but was interrupted when Raven struck him in the face. He stumbled backwards and drew his hand over his bleeding lip, at the same time staring at the mercenary in shock.

_"Leave!"_

The two men scrabbled frantically for the coins on the ground and fled in panic.

Raven turned back to the smith's apprentice and offered a hand to help the boy up. The boy stammered his thanks, but Raven hushed him and asked, "Is my armour ready?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, kind sir! Shall I go and fetch it for you?"

"No, there is no need for that. Run ahead to your master and tell him I will be along in a moment. And take care of those wounds of yours." The boy nodded and hobbled off.

_Wait, where's Mark?_

The mercenary looked at where he had left his companion and was relieved to find Mark standing there. However, his relief rapidly dissipated and was replaced with annoyance when he realised that Mark had some new company; Eliwood, Marcus and that wretched Hector of Ostia stood near the tactician.

Raven took a long, deep breath, summoned all his self-control and walked to greet them.

"Nicely done there, Raven," said Hector.

"Thank you, milord."

"Did you have to hit that man, though?" Eliwood asked.

The mercenary grunted. "What would you have done in my place, milord?"

Hector grinned. "He has a point. I know I would have done the same."

Raven gave him a peculiar--_no, not peculiar_--a look that was more akin to puzzlement, or perhaps, disbelief.

_Wonderful. Nobody seems to believe that I'm a nice person._

"You could have gotten into serious trouble in there. They did outnumber you."

"I am armed. They are not. As for the rabble, they're only brave when their victim is unable to fight back." The look on the mercenary's face changed for a fleeting instant, to an expression that Hector could not name before the cool, impassive mask he wore returned. "Besides, I... It just seemed to me that even if the boy was guilty, the punishment for the crime was far too excessive." Raven shrugged.

"True," Marcus agreed, "a slight chastisement would have been enough, but that rabble was about to severely hurt the child, perhaps even kill him."

"May I have your leave to go, milord?"

"Go ahead, Raven," said Hector, "and please, drop all that 'milord' business. Our names will be fine."

"Thank you... _milord."_ The mercenary shuffled back a pace and nodded at them all before he walked away in the direction of the smithy.

Hector blinked. "Well... that was interesting."

"Perhaps he's just one of those people who simply insist on formality," Eliwood suggested, "like Marcus here."

"It is the proper thing to do, milords," Marcus said in protest, "for we must show our respect to you at all times."

"I suppose that's it," Hector said, shrugging it off. "Come on, Eliwood, let's go and see what the rest of this place is like." He picked a general direction and walked off, expecting Eliwood to follow him.

"Marcus," said Eliwood, "you and Mark go back to the inn. Hector and I will return later."

"Yes, Lord Eliwood."

"Thank you, Marcus. Hector? Ah, Hector, wait for me!"


	3. Chapter 3

**_Zornhut: Chapter 3_**

* * *

Author's note: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.

* * *

The day had grown increasingly hot; Raven found that it was getting rather difficult trying to breathe the dried air. It had been over a week since the company had left the small village and its comfortable inn and resumed their journey towards Missur, and now deep into the Nabata desert. 

He looked at the small crowd a short distance ahead of him; the three nobles, Eliwood, Hector and Lyndis, led the company and with them were Mark, Nils and Ninian. Bartre and Dorcas trailed after them, Bartre talking excitedly about something while Dorcas merely nodded in response once in a while. The rest of the party had fallen slightly behind; most of the mounted members of the company had difficulty moving in the unfamiliar terrain, while the rest were most likely just tired.

Raven wiped away the sweat on his forehead and in his mind, cursed the searing heat.

_I can't believe I'm actually looking forward to nightfall. Instead of being burnt alive, I'll be freezing to death. How can this place be so hot in the day and turn so cold at night anyway?_

His sole consolation was the thought that Hector was suffering even more than he was in this heat. The Ostian lordling had to be more than just hot and uncomfortable in that heavy plate armour.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a faint voice calling out to him. "Lord Raven?"

He turned to look behind him and saw Lucius walking swiftly in his direction. "Lucius," he said in greeting when the monk caught up with him. "For a moment there, I thought you were the Master of Rudeness himself."

"I beg your pardon?" Lucius asked, confused.

"I was talking about Wil. He has this annoying idea stuck in his head that he should call me 'sir' or 'senior' and I thought he had added 'lord' to his repertoire of addresses."

"Really? I was under the impression that you somewhat liked him. After all, I keep seeing him talking to you."

"Only because I can't seem to get him to go away." There was a long pause before Raven grudgingly admitted, "He's not all that bad, once he stops prattling nonsense."

"Ah. Here," Lucius said, handing him a broad sheet of linen, "Priscilla thought you might need this. Drape it over your head and shoulders--it's not much, but it does offer some respite against the heat."

"Thank you."

"You know," Lucius said, lowering his voice, "you really ought to spend more time with her."

"I know," Raven answered, "but..."

"But?"

"She wants to hear about our parents. I'm not sure what to tell her--or if I should even tell her anything at all."

"I see."

Raven shook his head. "Perhaps it's best she doesn't know what happened to Father and Mother. After all, the Caerleons knew of their fate and chose not to tell her, and I see no reason why I should do otherwise."

"Is that why you have been avoiding her?"

"One of the reasons." There was a long pause before he continued. "Do you know the name of Hector's man-at-arms?"

"Sir Oswin, you mean?"

"Yes. I thought he looked familiar, then I remembered that he was posted in Cornwell for a short time when I was much younger. This was before your arrival."

Lucius nodded in understanding. "You think he might recognise you."

"Yes. I'm sure that he knows who Priscilla really is, and he probably remembers how she used to follow her brother around all the time back then." Raven allowed a brief smile to appear on his face before he continued, "It's been a great deal of time since he last saw me, but Priscilla and I do share a resemblance. Not much, but it is obvious when we're seen together. It's not all too difficult for him to put two and two together."

Lucius hesitated somewhat before he asked, "What do you think he would do if he _did_ recognise you?"

Raven shrugged. "Hard to say. He might consider me a threat to his charge and inform Uther about me. Who knows what goes on in Ostian minds?"

"I think," Lucius said carefully, "that he would do nothing at all."

"Perhaps, but I'm not taking any chances." Raven grasped the hilt of his sword. "If, at any rate, they wish to be rid of me, they are welcome to try."

"Lord Raven--"

"Enough, Lucius. I will never forgive Ostia for what they did to Cornwell. The only reason I'm here right now, fighting on their side, is because I want to make sure my sister is safe since she intends to stay on with this company till the end of this madness with Nergal. She's also the only reason why I haven't killed that fool brother of Uther's." Raven's eyes narrowed. "But after all this is over, I _will_ settle my score with House Ostia and there is nothing you can say to me that will change my mind."

If Lucius was hurt, the monk hid his feelings well. "As you wish, Lord Raven."

"Sir Raven!"

Both men turned to the sight of Wil running towards them, waving wildly with one hand and holding a waterskin in the other.

Raven groaned. "Wil," he said when the archer joined them, "I thought I told you to stop calling me that."

Wil opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he saw Raven's expression. "So, Raven," asked the archer, taking a good step back, "is that scowl on your face your normal scowl, or your angry scowl?"

"What do you think?"

Wil took another step backward. "Ah..." he said nervously, "I'll take that as the latter."

The mercenary grunted. "I'm not angry with you. Not yet, anyway."

Lucius smiled. "The heat is just making him irritable, that is all."

Wil nodded, relieved. "It's making most of the company irritable too," he said, "even the knights' horses are in an ill temper. The pegasi aren't too fond of the heat either--I guess they're more suited to cold weather, like in Ilia." The archer held up the waterskin he carried. "Here, I thought you two might welcome some water."

"Gladly," Lucius answered, taking the container and offered it to Raven, who motioned that he should drink first. The monk drank his fill before he passed it back to Raven. The mercenary gulped from the waterskin a few times before he let some water trickle onto his hand and washed his face.

"You didn't run all this way just to give us water, did you?" Raven asked.

Wil looked somewhat sheepish. "Well, Serra was grumbling about how the sun was doing all sorts of awful things to her skin, and then she started talking about how great it would be if she had her own vassals--"

"And so you used whatever excuse you could think of to get away," Raven interrupted, while Lucius was trying very hard to stifle a smile.

"Yeah. Poor Matthew is still stuck there with her," Wil said, grinning. "Serves him right."

"Why?"

"He tried to cheat me at dice the other night. I may indeed be as clueless as you say, Raven, but I'm not a _complete_ fool. No die should have two sixes on it."

"Ah."

---

"I wonder if someone has misplaced his vassals recently," Serra said. "Maybe there's just one lying around here somewhere..."

Matthew sighed. "Not bloody likely."

The cleric pouted. "What makes you so sure that there aren't any lost vassals around here? Who knows, there might be one nearby, just waiting for us to find him!"

Matthew took a deep breath to calm himself before he said, "Serra, we're in the middle of a desert. A wasteland. In case you haven't noticed, that means we're days away from the nearest town. Even if there _were_ any lost vassals nearby, they'd probably be _dead."_ He muttered under his breath, "Lucky for them."

"Hmm? I didn't quite hear that last thing you said."

"Oh, it's nothing important."

"Really?"

"Really. Now--"

Serra never got to hear the rest of what Matthew wanted to say, for he was distracted by a shout coming from the head of the party, then by a series of faint flashes of light in the horizon. "What's going on over there?" he asked, shielding his eyes against the sun with his hand as he looked at the spectacle up ahead.

"It looks like someone's using magic."

"Yes, you're probably right. Erk's spells look something like that when they're unleashed, don't they?" Matthew listened intently for a few moments before he announced, "There's definitely fighting up ahead. I can hear sounds of it! I'm going to take a look!" The thief then started into a run.

"Hey! I thought you never get into brawls! Stay with me!"

"Uh, but Lord Hector might need me on the front lines! I can use a sword too, you know!" Matthew yelled as he continued running.

"Matthew! Come back here!" Serra shouted, but the thief was too far away to hear her, or more likely, ignored her. "Oooh!" she said, stamping her foot in frustration.

---

"Come on, Hector!" Lyndis said, "that man is badly outnumbered--he will need help against those bandits!"

"Hey! Slow down, damn it! I've got all this armour on!"

Eliwood could only look in amazement as his two comrades dashed to meet the enemy, Lyndis leading the way while Hector ran after her, panting slightly in his heavy armour and shouting something about show-offs. Mark and Nils had looks of disbelief on their faces, while Ninian was giggling.

"Where do those two get all their energy?" Nils wondered.

"I have absolutely no idea, Nils." Eliwood fixed his gaze on Mark. "All right Mark, it's time for your skills. Nils, Ninian, stay with the rest of the party. I'll run ahead and make sure those two don't engage the fray just yet."

"Yes, Lord Eliwood," Mark answered and ran back to the main body of the company, Nils and Ninian following closely behind. A few moments later Eliwood could hear him issuing out orders to some of the troops.

Eliwood looked at his two friends ways ahead of him, shook his head and went after them.

---

"Finally!" Wil exclaimed when Mark announced the party were engaging a battle and gave orders for them to join the front lines, "some action!"

"I must join Serra at our positions. Good luck to both of you, and be safe!" Lucius said before he hurried away.

"Let's go, Raven!"

"Wil, I can't believe that you're actually excited about having to do battle in this heat."

"Ah, but think of it this way, Raven! You can at least take out all your frustrations on your hapless enemies! Come on, let's move!"

Raven shook his head and ran after the archer. "The heat must be getting to me," he said to himself, "I actually think he's making sense."


	4. Chapter 4

**_Zornhut: Chapter 4_**

* * *

Author's note: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.

* * *

"Behind you!" 

Acting out of reflex, Sain wheeled his horse around and swung his longsword just in time to parry a wild blow from a bandit. Bracing his feet in his stirrups, the Caelin knight counterattacked with a series of swift cuts aimed at the bandit's upper body. The bandit was forced to defend himself from the onslaught of blows but soon made the grave error of leaving his side open to attack--an error that Sain took advantage of by swinging his blade down in a vast overhand blow that took off the bandit's arm, and finished off with a flourish by lopping off the man's head.

Sain raised his sword in a salute to his friend nearby. "Thanks for the warning, Kent!" he yelled. Not waiting for a reply, the knight brandished his sword in the air and with a battle cry, charged at the remaining two bandits; there was a muffled curse from Kent before the other knight spurred his mount to follow close behind.

Sain allowed himself a small grin before he turned his attention back to the bandits. He was counting on their fear of the powerful--and not to mention potentially lethal--impact of an armoured knight and warhorse to force them into either running away, or making a foolish mistake.

The first of the bandits went for the latter; he swung his crude axe wildly in hopes of unhorsing the knight, but the attack was poorly aimed, and Sain had only to deliver an offside thrust to end the bandit's life.

The second bandit had a little bit more sense and experience than his fallen comrade; he did the right thing and simply backed away from Sain's charge, but unfortunately by doing so, he merely planted himself right in Kent's path. There was a strangled scream when the bandit realised the situation was in and he desperately raised his shield, but the scream was drowned by a gigantic crack when Kent's lance penetrated the shield and the man behind it. The knight reflexively released his grip on the now-useless lance to prevent himself from being unhorsed and drew his sword, but it was an unnecessary gesture; their opponents were all dead.

"Nicely done, Kent--" Sain began.

"Stop trying to show off, you fool!" roared the other knight.

Sain winced. Kent rarely used that tone with him; the redhead was beyond angry now--the man was furious. "Yes, Mother," he said meekly, hoping to somewhat calm his friend.

Kent glared at him for a long moment before the knight shook his head and groaned. "When," he said in an exasperated tone, "will you learn _not_ to blindly rush into a melee like that?"

"What are you so worried about? We took care of those bandits, didn't we?"

"Only because they're just simple bandits, and not well-trained soldiers." Kent sighed and sheathed his sword. "I wonder how the rest of our companions are doing out in the front lines."

"They're probably doing all right. Probably enjoying themselves, even! _I_, on the other hand, do _not_ like being stuck in rearward battles."

"Neither do I. It's a shame our horses aren't well-suited to the desert and have problems moving around, or else I'd be right out there," he said, looking off into the distance where the main battle was taking place.

"By Lady Lyndis' side, you mean?" Sain asked, his tone slightly mischievous.

Kent's voice was neutral as he answered, "It is our duty as her knights to protect her from harm."

Sain smiled. "Of course it is."

---

Rebecca forced herself to focus on the routine of firing her arrows. _Nock the arrow, draw the bowstring all the way back and keep it taut, pick a target and aim, and then let the shaft loose. _

Her arrow sailed through the air in a smooth arc before it hit its mark--an ugly brute armed with a crude iron axe. The bandit could only stare at the shaft sticking out of his bare chest before collapsing onto the ground, lifeless.

"Good shot!" Wil cried behind her, "but watch this!" The archer grinned and went through the same routine with his longbow, but he held the string taut for such a long time Rebecca was afraid the tension would cause the longbow to break. Just when she was sure that Wil's bow was going to crack in half, he let his arrow loose; she watched it soar high into the air before it disappeared in the sun's glare.

"Watch _what?"_ she asked, shielding her eyes with her hand.

There was a faint shriek from the skies before both of the archers were treated to a spectacular sight of a pegasus knight plummeting to earth from her winged mount. Rebecca could not help but wince.

Wil smirked. "That."

The archers' orders were simple; they were to prevent any of the enemy flyers from reaching the main fray, where their leaders and the mage they were rescuing were battling it out with the remaining bandits and their two leaders. Wil was doing an excellent job at that with his longbow, with Rebecca finishing off the flyers who survived Wil's arrows, and one or two of the bandits who seemed to come from nowhere once they were in the range of_ her_ bow. Occasionally a few of the more experienced bandits managed to break through the hail of arrows she and Wil fired, but--

_Sir Raven and Bartre will handle them._

The two men were some ways ahead of the archers, engaging what looked from Rebecca's position was a constant stream of opponents. She hoped that they were fine, although judging from Bartre's shouts of challenge directed at the enemy, everything was going well for them. She nocked another arrow and was about to draw her bowstring when she heard Raven's voice shout in warning when one of the enemy flyers managed to get close enough to hurl her spear before falling victim to one of Wil's arrows a swift moment later.

_"Look out!"_

Rebecca was not as experienced and as well-trained as some of the members of the company, and she was more used to staying at the edge of battle rather than in the actual midst of it. Stunned, her body refused to move and she could only stare at the incoming projectile heading straight for her.

"Rebecca!"

She gasped in shock when she felt a heavy body--Wil's--slamming into her, shoving her aside and out of harm's way. She then gasped again in horror when she heard Wil yelp in pain. "Wil!" she cried.

The archer slowly pushed himself up and propped himself into a sitting position. "Don't worry about me," he said, grinning weakly, "it's just a scratch. Worry about those blasted bandits!"

Rebecca stared at the bloody gash on Wil's right leg. "Oh gods," she said, "you're badly hurt!" She waved wildly at the two fighters near them, who were thankfully finishing off the last of the bandits. "Sir Raven! Wil's injured!"

The mercenary turned at the sound of her voice; he nodded and clapped Bartre on the shoulder before running back to join the two archers. "How bad is it?" he asked when he arrived. Not waiting for an answer, he ripped Wil's trouser leg so he could take a better look at the wound, ignoring the archer's protests. "Huh, that spear made a pretty nasty tear. Good thing I had Bartre call for one of our healers."

"It's not that bad," Wil said.

"Shut up and stay still, you idiot," Raven snapped as he tore off Wil's sleeve and wadded the piece of cloth up into a pad. He pressed the makeshift compress firmly against the archer's wound. "Rebecca, hold this down while I bandage him up," the mercenary ordered, removing the strips of linen he wore around his wrists, "it's not much, but it'll stop the bleeding and make sure he's still with us until a healer gets here."

"I'm fine, Senior Raven."

"Wil, I thought I told you to shut up. And _stop_ calling me that!"

One of the company's newest recruits, Heath, came swooping down on his wyvern some moments later to land near them, Serra seated behind him. The cleric muttered something about her wind-tangled hair before she slid off the wyvern's back and padded off towards the group.

"Raven," said the wyvern knight, "Mark says that you and Bartre are to join Lord Eliwood. He's going to engage one of the bandits' leaders, and he may need some help. Rebecca, once Serra's done healing Wil, both of you move to the east flank--Erk and Canas need some support in dealing with the last of those desert bandits. Don't worry about Wil--me and Hyperion will fly him safely back to the rearguard."

Bartre gave a hearty laugh. "Ah, the sweet call of battle! Come, youngling, let us prove our strength against that so-called leader of these wretched bandits!" The burly fighter hefted his axe against his shoulder and marched off, laughing.

Rebecca almost giggled when she saw the look of exasperation on Raven's face.

---

"Jasmine?" Hector repeated in disbelief when the bandit introduced himself.

"You've something against my name, boy?" the man snarled. "Feh, don't matter, me and my brother Paul will kill the lot of you!"

Hector did not even deign the bandit a reply and instead, moved closer to attack. He made a big swinging roundarm blow with his axe; the bandit blocked it and countered with a savage slash of his own weapon. Hector dodged out of the way and made another attack, but again, his blow was blocked.

"Hector!"

"Stay out of this, Lyn," he said to his friend behind him, not taking his eyes off his opponent. "This one's mine. You've had your fun taking care of this fool's henchmen."

He moved to attack again, this time making a feint at his enemy's head. Unfortunately the man recognised the bluff and instead of blocking the blow, simply moved aside and swung back in retaliation, managing to score a hit on Hector's left forearm. Fortunately, the blow wasn't quite strong enough and it merely bounced off the vambraces Hector wore. It did hurt quite a bit however, and Hector knew there was going to be a very nasty-looking bruise on his arm once he removed his armour.

The two continued to trade blows for what seemed like eternity when finally, enraged by his inability to dispatch his opponent, Jasmine lunged wildly at Hector, opening room for the Ostian lordling to attack; Hector spun out of the way and struck a vicious backhanded blow. His axe connected; blood spouted from the bandit's right shoulder as the weapon's edge penetrated through the crude leather armour the man wore and bit into flesh.

Shocked, Jasmine dropped his weapon and frantically backed away. The bandit started to reach behind his back--presumably for another weapon--but Hector was much faster than he was.

Acting more out of instinct than thought, Hector reached for the hand axe that hung at his belt, brought it back behind his head and in one smooth motion, flung the deadly implement with all his might. The small axe was only a blur in the air, and found its mark with a sickening thud and a spray of blood.

Jasmine stared at the weapon that was embedded in his torso. "I got hit but it feels so good..." said the bandit before he sank slowly to the ground and died, a smile on his face.

Feeling a touch disturbed, Hector stared at the dead body for a few moments longer before he turned away and shook his head. He then noticed Lyndis looking at him with a most amused expression on her face. "Not," he said to the swordswoman, pointing a finger at her, "a _word."_

Lyndis gave him the most innocent look she could muster. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"Right."

A loud victory yell some distance away caught their attention. "Well, that shout from Bartre must mean that Eliwood's taken care of the other one. What was his name again? Paul?"

Hector shrugged. "Who cares?" He walked to Jasmine's lifeless body and with a hefty tug, dislodged his throwing axe from the bandit's chest. He wiped off the blood on the weapon with the dead man's shirt before he eyed the axe critically. "Only a few nicks on the edge," he said, "I guess it's good for a few more throws before it's useless." He made a face as he secured the weapon on his belt. "I'd just toss it away, but Oswin would rumble in disapproval if I did."

"Look," Lyndis said, pointing at a blue flare that shot up into the sky, "Erk's signal. The fighting must be over on all sides now."

"Good. Let's go and see what that mage we just rescued has to say." Hector stepped to one side and waved a hand in an almost gallant gesture. "After you, Lady Lyndis."

Lyndis chuckled. "Why, thank you, Lord Hector."

"See? I'm not the ill-mannered, axe-swinging ruffian everyone seems to think I am."

She smiled. "No, you're just an axe-swinging ruffian."

Hector sighed.

---

Pent smiled at the gentle-looking young man standing in front of him; the redhead had just explained as to why he and his friends were out wandering in the desert before the party stumbled into the mage's little predicament with the desert bandits. It was a good thing the party chose to rush to his aid; like he had said to Eliwood earlier, despite the fact that he was handling himself pretty well, spell tomes do not last forever.

_They must be searching for Archsage Athos. I wonder..._

"You said you're looking for the living legend, Eliwood?"

Eliwood nodded. "Yes, that's right."

"Well," Pent said, still smiling, "I think I can help you with that."

Eliwood could not help but smile back.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Zornhut: Chapter 5_**

* * *

Author's note: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.

* * *

Pherae, Raven decided, reminded him of home. Cornwell's walls were not as grand as Pherae's, yet both castles had that calm, soothing aura that he could not help but feel at ease. 

Instead of joining the rest of the company in the great hall, he wandered the paths of the inner keep and with each step, grew into a more and more wistful mood. After almost an hour of walking, he found himself at the battlements overlooking the bailey and royal apartments. He leaned against the parapets and looked at the courtyard below; it was almost too easy to imagine the Cornwell men-at-arms there, each man walking briskly to their duties and errands. He was still in a reflective mood when Wil found him some time later.

"Hey Raven!" the archer called as he ran along the battlements.

Raven did not even bother to turn and look at the other man when he arrived. "Wil," was all the mercenary said in reply.

"You missed supper," said Wil, taking his place next to Raven.

Raven shrugged. "I wasn't hungry."

The archer leaned against the battlements and looked in the direction of the outer bailey for a long moment before he said, "I finally sent that letter I promised Lady Lyndis I'd write to my parents. Can't believe I've been stalling that for a while now."

"Hmm."

Wil stretched. "I guess if it weren't for what we've gone through the past few months, I'd probably never get around to it." His voice took a more serious tone when he continued, "I wonder what's it like for Lord Eliwood right now. He wasn't with us at supper--I suppose he's with his lady mother." The archer sighed. "It must be a horrible thing, that."

"What is?" Raven asked.

"Having your own father die in your arms."

"I'm not too sure. At least he got to say goodbye," Raven answered without thinking, and immediately cursed himself for doing so.

There have been a few occasions where Raven had wondered if Wil's cluelessness was in fact an act, and this was one of them. The mercenary had expected Wil to pester him with a question or two regarding his answer, but was surprised when Wil merely nodded and chose not to pursue the subject, even though it was obvious that the archer was rather curious.

"Well," said Wil as he clapped Raven once on the shoulder, "I guess I'll see you in the morning then. Good night." The archer strolled off in the direction of the company's quarters, whistling softly. He had not gone far when he stopped and turned around. "By the way," said the archer, "Bartre's looking for you. He said something about a family tree you're supposed to look at."

Raven groaned. "Thanks for the warning."

Wil flashed him a quick grin. "You're welcome."

---

Hector paced the floor, occasionally glancing at the door to the royal solarium, wondering when Eliwood would leave the room. He continued walking back and forth for a few moments longer when he finally decided that if he had to wait, he might as well make himself comfortable and so took a seat near the fireplace.

_Can't believe that old man Athos teleported us all the way here. Kind of amusing though, to see the royal guards panic when all of us just popped out of thin air like that._ He grinned.

The sound of the door opening caught his attention, and he turned to find Mark exiting the room. "Mark," he said, "I didn't expect to find you here." He got up from his seat and approached the tactician. "Where's Eliwood?"

"With his mother, my lord. I think we should leave them alone for now. Was there anything important you wanted to discuss with him?"

Hector shrugged. "Nothing that cannot wait. What were you doing in there anyway?"

"Having a chat with Lord Eliwood. He asked me where I was from, what was it like at home, that sort of thing." The tactician ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose he just wanted to talk about something else instead of our mission or Lord Elbert."

"I see. Anyway, I... I owe you an apology, Mark."

The tactician looked at him in surprise. "Whatever for?"

"When we first met... I had doubts about your abilities then. I was wrong. Without your help, I do not think we would not have gotten this far."

Mark stared at him.

"Damn it lad, say something. And why are you looking at me like that?"

"Well, it's just that I had never expected to hear something like that from you, Lord Hector."

Hector scowled. "Why won't anyone believe that I am perfectly capable of saying something nice?"

The tactician started to laugh, but somehow managed to turn it into an awkward-sounding cough. He swiftly covered his mouth with his hand, obviously trying his best to hide a smile.

Hector sighed. "I give up," he grumbled, "if I am doomed to be thought of as nothing more than an armour-plated goon, so be it. Let's go and give Eliwood some peace." He then clapped the tactician rather heartily on the back, nearly driving the other man to his knees.

_"Oof."_

"Sorry." Hector blinked. "Wait, I could have sworn I heard clinking--are you wearing mail under those robes of yours?"

Mark nodded.

"No wonder you walk so slowly, you have all that weight on. Come, let us head for the dining hall for some supper."

"Ah... I'm not really hungry. But I do have a small favour to ask."

"Of course."

"Would you be kind enough to give this to Raven, my lord?"

Hector looked at what Mark gave to him. It was a crest about the size of a large coin; the small device was a burnished red with gold trim, with odd engravings on its surface. He looked suspiciously at the other man. "Why don't you give it to him yourself?"

The tactician looked a touch embarrassed when he answered, "Well, it's just that the man _terrifies_ me, my lord. I don't think he likes me."

"I don't think that boy likes any of us, all he ever does is scowl and glare at people." Hector eyed the crest for a moment before he asked, "So why should _I_ be the one to give him this?"

"Because you're bigger and not to mention much braver than I am, my lord."

Hector grinned. "Good answer."

---

Priscilla brushed her horse, humming softly; the brown gelding leaned into every stroke of the brush and neighed softly with pleasure at intervals, obviously enjoying her attentions.

"Let me do that."

She nearly jumped at the familiar voice behind her. "Goodness! You scared me!" she exclaimed.

"Sorry," Raven said as he moved closer to take the brush from Priscilla's hand. He resumed grooming the horse, but not before ruffling his sister's hair affectionately with one hand. "He's a beauty," he said, stroking the horse's mane.

Priscilla beamed. "He is, isn't he? Countess Caerleon gave him to me for my birthday," she said. "But I'm sure you did not come all the way to the stables just to discuss my horse," she teased. Raven laughed softly and smiled, a very rare thing for him to do; she remembered that even as a child, her brother was almost always serious and solemn.

"Actually, Lucius has been nagging me to spend some time with you." Raven sighed. "I'm sorry that I haven't done so."

"It's all right," Priscilla said, giving her brother a quick hug, "I know how occupied you have been all this while. And it's so hard to actually find a place and opportunity for us to sit down and talk, just the both of us." She had never understood her brother's decision to keep the fact that they were siblings a secret from the others, but she never questioned it either.

They talked for over an hour; Raven asked questions on her life with the Caerleons, and in return, he entertained her with a few stories of his days in the Caelin army. She was careful to keep their conversation on anything _but_ their parents, even though she was dying for any news of them, knowing that the conversation would come to an abrupt halt if she did, just like in the few occasions before.

She certainly did not want this conversation to end just yet, and tried her very best to hide a yawn when she felt it coming. She failed miserably.

"You should go to bed," Raven said, "I've kept you awake long enough."

"I'm not sleepy," Priscilla protested, but flushed slightly in embarrassment when she yawned again.

"To sleep, Priscilla," Raven ordered in that no-nonsense tone she remembered well from their childhood.

"Very well. Good night." She tiptoed to kiss her brother on the cheek before she left the stables.

Raven remained behind, putting away the brushes and checking the horse's tack, making sure the gear was ready for tomorrow. He was about ready to leave when he heard the sounds of someone entering the stables; he also thought he heard the faint sound of his name being called. It definitely was not one of the stablemen or grooms, for Eliwood had made it clear to them that the company would take care of their own animals; the pegasi and Heath's wyvern disliked having strangers around them. He doubted that it was Bartre; the axeman would never have thought of looking for him in the stables. That left only one person.

_Wil._

"What is it now, Master of Rudeness?" Raven said loudly, not disguising his irritation.

"Master of Rudeness? Is that what everyone in this company has been calling me behind my back?"

Raven's eyes widened. That voice definitely did not belong to Wil. He instinctively reached for his sword, and cursed when he remembered that he was not armed; he had left his weapon in his room.

Hector grumbled as he stomped his way through the stables to the surprised mercenary. "Master of Rudeness?" he repeated accusingly.

Raven blinked. "I... I thought you were Wil."

"Do I_ look_ like Wil?"

Raven ignored the man's question. "What do you want?" he asked, just barely maintaining a level tone with his voice.

Hector shrugged. "I have something for you. Here," he said, grabbing Raven's right hand, and pressed something firmly into the mercenary's palm. "We leave early in the morning. Get some sleep." The Ostian lordling did not wait for a reply and headed for the doorway, grumbling under his breath.

Raven stared at the other man for a moment before he turned his attention to the object in his hand. "A Hero Crest..." he said softly to himself. "Interesting."


	6. Chapter 6

**_Zornhut: Chapter 6_**

* * *

Author's note: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.

* * *

Eliwood slowed his pace and gradually fell back from the head of the marching column to the rear, exchanging a few words of greeting to the members of the company as they passed. 

"Good day," he said cheerfully once he found just the person he wanted to talk to.

"Good day, Lord Eliwood," Raven replied, a little surprised.

Eliwood had always made it a point to occasionally have a short talk or two with each member of the company; his late father, Lord Elbert, had always stressed the importance of building trust with one's troops and one of the best ways of doing so was to talk with them. He had been meaning to have one with Raven for a while now--ever since the little incident in the small farming village, in fact--but for some reason, the mercenary had been rather hard to find lately.

When he mentioned it to Raven, the other man looked somewhat amused. "Hard to find? It's really nothing, Lord Eliwood, it's just that--"

"Hey! You there!"

Eliwood turned and saw Bartre running towards them from the head of the column, waving what looked to be a roll of parchment in his right hand.

Raven's expression turned slightly pained.

"I've been looking for you for ages, youngster!" said Bartre, once he reached them. "Never thought you'd be back here, you're always somewhere at the front..."

Eliwood cleared his throat. "Bartre? If you don't mind, could you postpone your discussion with Raven for now? I need to have a word with him."

"Eh?" The axeman scratched the back of his head for a bit before he replied, "But I... Ah, I guess this can wait. Later then, youngster!" He trotted off back to his place at the front of the column.

"Thank you," Raven said, grateful.

"You're welcome. I suppose that is why you've been rather elusive lately." Seeing Raven nod in affirmation, Eliwood continued, "Well then, what is that parchment he's carrying, by the way?"

Raven sighed. "His family tree. I do not know why, but the man insists on me reading it."

Eliwood blinked. "I see... I think." He smiled.

"Milord?"

"Nothing, nothing. I was just wondering why some people in our party are, well, rather intimidated by you. Bartre seems to have no problems seeking your company."

"Intimidated?" Raven sounded amused.

"Yes."

The corners of Raven's mouth turned slightly upwards in a very small smile. "In that case, milord, you should tell them that they've nothing to fear from me."

Eliwood smiled and absently ran his left hand through his hair. "Well, I suppose you could tell them yourself." He sighed. "Anyway, I've been meaning to have a word with you for a while now."

The mercenary stiffened slightly. "On what?" he asked.

"Well, nothing specific. I just wanted to talk, that is all," Eliwood said in reassurance. _Wonder why he's so tense?_ "Why, worried that I was going to renegotiate your pay?" he joked. Raven glanced at him, and for a moment Eliwood thought that he had somehow offended the other man, but felt relieved when he heard Raven chuckle. Feeling a change of subject was in order, he asked, "So how is your new equipment?" Hector had mentioned to him last night that Raven now had a Hero Crest; before they set off from Pherae this morning he told the mercenary the man could have his pick from the company's cache of weapons in Merlinus' wagon and the royal armoury.

Raven had traded his brigandine for mail, and now had a simple footman's shield strapped to his left arm. Aside from the sword he usually wore, there was a battle-axe fastened on his back, while a small hand axe hung from his belt. "All is in order, milord," the mercenary answered. There was a short pause before he added, "Thank you."

"I do not know what changes those magical items bring, so if you've something else you need--well, do not hesitate to ask," Eliwood said. "So what's it like?" he asked.

Raven looked thoughtful for a moment before he answered, "At first, I thought that nothing had changed--I certainly didn't feel any different. But early this morning, when I was at my swordplay exercises, I noticed some things." He tapped the shield he wore and continued, "I never would have worn this before. I never considered myself fast enough to perfectly handle both sword and shield, only the former. But that crest--it's made me faster and I daresay, stronger, and I swear that my skills with the blade are much sharper than before."

"I see you've also an axe."

"Yes. I had some training with the axe, but I have never developed much taste for the weapon--it was just too clumsy and heavy for me. But now since I've that crest, I thought that I would try using it again. Especially with how we seem to run into a lot of lance-wielders lately." The mercenary shrugged. "I'm a little bit rusty, but maybe I can get Bartre to spar with me. Even if that means having to look at that family tree of his."

"Well, I think there is a way I can spare you from that. Hector's one of the best fighters I've known, and I know no one better with the axe. Perhaps I could ask him to spar with you--"

"That will not be necessary, milord," Raven interrupted, his tone sharp; Eliwood almost winced. "That is," the mercenary added quickly in a much gentler tone, "I'd rather train on my own than having to trouble you."

"Well... if you wish. Although I do think it would not be of great trouble at all. Are you sure?"

"Quite sure." A short pause before Raven added as an explanation, "Let's just say that my past experiences with Ostians have never been anything but unpleasant, milord."

"Well then, I assure you that you've nothing to worry about Hector. Most people find him a little daunting and rather brash at first, but he is one of, if not the most honourable man I know, and I trust him with my life."

"Milord is entitled to his opinion, as I am entitled to mine," said the mercenary in a tone that invited no further discussion.

Taking the hint, Eliwood nodded and said, "Well, I'd best get back to the head of the column. Take care, Raven."

"Thank you, milord."

Eliwood hurried back to his customary place at the front of the company, at the same time wondering what brought on Raven's almost hostile reaction to his suggestion. "What's with the look on your face?" Hector asked when he finally caught up with his friends.

"Oh, nothing really. I just had a talk with your friend, the mercenary."

Hector raised his left eyebrow. "Friend? I don't think he even likes me."

"And what makes you say so?"

"The way he looks at me with that scowl on his face. Yes, I know that he scowls at everyone, but I swear he scowls even _more_ so at_ me,_ if that makes any sense."

"Odd," Eliwood said, frowning slightly, "Raven said something about unpleasant past experiences with Ostians. I wonder what he meant."

Hector shrugged. "Probably a previous employer. Mercenaries tend to get lousy contracts most of the time, or so I've heard." The Ostian lordling then turned to look at Lyndis, clearly expecting something.

"What?" she asked, a little bit confused.

"Never mind. I was sort of expecting you to say something that would make me look foolish. Pardon, my mistake."

The swordswoman rolled her eyes.

"So what did you talk about?" Hector asked.

"Nothing really, we just talked about his new weapons and equipment. I doubt that I could carry on a long conversation with him anyway. He seems to be the sort of person whom would volunteer nothing of himself."

"Well, I know this person," Lyndis said innocently, "and when he talks, he would say nothing of use."

"Hey!"

For someone who was undoubtedly shaking with laughter, Eliwood's voice was surprisingly calm. "He also said that he's now using axes in battle, so I suggested that you could spar with him, Hector."

"And?"

"He said no. Strongly, in fact."

Hector was puzzled. "Why? I think it would be a good idea."

"Maybe he does not want advice from someone who merely swings his axe wildly," Lyndis said.

Hector gave her a look. "Well, that someone bested you in our last sparring match with his wild axe-swinging," he said, and had the brief satisfaction of seeing the swordswoman flush slightly in embarrassment before he turned his attention back to Eliwood. "You know, I think a sparring round or two with him would be good. Both for him and me."

"But Hector, he already said that he'd rather not."

Hector was not listening, however. "I wonder if Oswin can help rig up a makeshift pell for us," he said, "or perhaps I should ask that Marcus, I noticed he had one for Lowen to practice on a week ago..." The Ostian lordling turned back and headed for the middle of the column, looking for his man-at-arms.

Eliwood could only sigh.

---

"So, what did Lord Eliwood say to you this morning, Lord Raymond?" Lucius asked as he sat down next to the other man and handed him a small roll of bread. The company had camped for the night and the two young men were at their usual spot, near the edges of the camp, where they could talk in private and Lucius was comfortable enough to use Raven's real name. The rest of the company sat around the main campfire, where Nils was playing a merry song on his flute.

"He just wanted to ask how I was faring and if I needed anything. Small talk, nothing more," Raven answered, tearing off a small chunk of bread from the hard roll and chewed on it. "He also mentioned that some of this rag-tag bunch find me intimidating."

"I can't imagine why."

"Was that a joke?" When Lucius nodded in reply, Raven shook his head and smiled, just a little. "You're in a good mood today."

"So are you, Lord Raymond." There was a long pause before Lucius asked, "Pherae reminded you of home, didn't it?"

"You know me too well, Lucius."

"It was the same for me. I--"

"What's going on over there?" Raven asked and drew himself up, staring at the campfire.

Wondering what had caught the other man's attention, Lucius turned to look. "Oh dear," he said when he saw just what Raven was focused on.

Sain was talking to Priscilla; although Lucius could not hear what the man said, judging by his gestures, the Caelin knight was trying to persuade her to permit him with a dance. The young woman shook her head and smiled, declining the offer, but the knight put on a hurt expression and tried again.

Obviously this did _not_ sit very well with the young woman's brother.

Raven stormed off in the direction of the campfire with what Wil called his 'terrifying scowl' on his face; Lucius hurried after him. "Steady," the monk said, as he put his hand on Raven's arm in a gesture to calm the other man.

"That," Raven growled, not slowing his pace at all, "is _my sister_ he's pestering."

"Yes, but Sain doesn't know that."

"Point," Raven admitted, "but I'm going to break the fool knight's arm anyway. And what is with that smile on your face, Lucius? I do not find this all too amusing!"

"It's nothing, Lord Raven," Lucius said, automatically switching to address the man by his new name, now that they were near the others. The monk did however, find the situation a little amusing--and rather sweet.

_All those years apart and you still dote on her, Lord Raymond._

"My princess," Lucius heard Sain say, now that they were much closer, "please, a dance is all I ask! Your humble servant shall surely _die,_ if you do not grant him this small favour!"

"Oh, he's going to die, all right," Raven said between gritted teeth, but Lucius held fast onto his sword arm.

"Now, Lord Raven," Lucius said softly, "Lady Priscilla can take care of herself." Raven's reply to that was only a grunt, but Lucius felt the man relax slightly. "Anyway," he continued in a slightly joking tone of voice, "I am definitely sure that she would not like to have blood on her clothes, should you decide to charge in there. Even if she does find Sain's attentions far too much of a nuisance, she could just hit him with her stave. Or perhaps, set his hair on fire."

Raven stared at him. "What?"

"Oh, you didn't know?" Lucius asked, surprised. When Raven shook his head, the monk explained, "She can use magic now---Mark gave her a Guiding Ring before we left Pherae."

"It wasn't Mark who gave me my crest."

"I think that's most likely because he's one of the people here who finds you intimidating."

"Ah." Raven shifted his attention back to Sain and Priscilla. The knight had given up on trying to convince his sister to dance and was now trying to get Rebecca to do so instead. Satisfied, he gently removed Lucius' hand from his arm. "I'll have to talk to him about that then," he said, heading back, "Eliwood said that it's best for me to convince him myself that I've nothing against him."

"You respect him, don't you? Lord Eliwood, I mean."

Raven nodded. "He takes good care of his men. And he's been handling this expedition well, even after all what has befallen him." The mercenary glanced back at the campfire and his eyes narrowed at the sight of Hector sitting next to the man in question. "It's only that I do not approve of some of the company he keeps."

---

Hector drank from his flask of wine, then coughed when he noticed that Oswin was looking at him, a look of disapproval on the older man's face. He took another quick sip before he put the flask away and turned his attention to Nils' music. "Too bad for the ones on watch," he said.

"Pardon?" Eliwood asked.

"Missing out on all this fun."

"Yes, I suppose so."

Hector gave his best friend a concerned look. "Are you all right, Eliwood? You sound a little... down."

Eliwood gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Hector. I'm just a little tired, that's all."

"If you say so." Hector glanced at the merriment around the fire and saw that Sain was trying to coerce Priscilla into dancing with him. A few members of the company cheered him on, but Hector immediately noticed at least one man who did not approve of Sain's actions.

Just right behind Bartre, who had just shouted a quick word of encouragement to Sain, stood a very angry-looking Raven. Lucius stood next to the mercenary, clearly trying his very best not to smile. The redhead looked about ready to murder someone; Hector could understand why their tactician was more than a little awed--_no, terrified_--of the man.

What Hector did not understand however, was _why_ Raven had that murderous look on his face. "Eliwood," the Ostian lordling said, "there is something going on here that escapes me."

"I'm afraid that I have no idea what you're talking about, Hector," Eliwood said, a little baffled.

"Never mind." Hector shrugged, and then noticed that Oswin had a thoughtful expression on his face. "Oswin? What is it?"

The knight was looking at the mercenary, who had just turned away from the campfire, before he glanced back at Sain and Priscilla; the Caelin knight had finally accepted that the object of his attentions was not interested in a merry little jig and now looked for someone else to cajole.

"Nothing, Lord Hector," Oswin said, still looking thoughtful, "nothing at all."


	7. Chapter 7

**_Zornhut: Chapter 7_**

* * *

Author's note: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.

* * *

"How long before we reach Bern?" Lyndis asked. It was dusk; the swordswoman was seated near the fire with her friends, while the rest of the company were getting the camp ready. Almost a week had passed since they left Pherae, following Archsage Athos' counsel to seek the Shrine of Seals at Bern. 

Mark studied the map laid out on the ground before him. "We're not far from the border," he answered, "if we keep to the highway, with luck, we'll reach Bern tomorrow afternoon."

"One more thing, Mark."

"Yes?"

"When was the last time you had any decent sleep?" Lyndis asked, peering closely at him. "You're looking rather tired lately."

The tactician flushed slightly, a look of guilt on his face. "Well, I..."

"Go to bed," Hector ordered.

"But it's still too early, and I need to--"

"Go to bed," Hector repeated, "before Mother there gives you a paddling. Whatever errands you need to do can wait until morning."

The corners of Mark's mouth twitched ever so slightly as he stood, rolling up his map before he placed it into one of his pockets. "As you wish. Good night--err, evening, milords. Milady." He nodded in respect to each of them, then walked off to the tent he shared with some of the mages.

"You do know that he's going to sneak out later to check our supplies, or pore over his books and maps, don't you?" Hector said, shaking his head. "Tacticians. I shall never understand them."

Eliwood smiled. "I'll go and check on him later. The last thing we need is our master tactician to fall asleep in the midst of battle, since he hadn't any sleep the night before."

"That lad does need more rest," Lyndis observed, "his colouring is a bit too pale for my liking."

"He's probably stressed," Hector said.

"Probably? I'm surprised he hasn't collapsed in exhaustion. I've never seen him this fatigued--not even when he helped me find my grandfather," Lyndis said, absently tossing a dry twig into the fire. "But then again, this campaign of ours is longer than my little quest back then."

"Don't worry," Hector replied, "when we get to Bern, we'll make sure that we have decent accommodations for everyone. Nothing beats a proper good night's rest in a proper bed. In the meantime, Mark can sleep in my tent. Oswin and I still have room to spare for another occupant."

"Ah, I don't think that would be a good idea, Hector," Eliwood disagreed.

"Why not?"

"Hector," Eliwood said, "you snore. _Loudly._ Oswin is used to it, but Mark isn't--and Mark's a light sleeper."

Hector chose to ignore the look of mirth on Lyndis' face. "Right," he said, "I suppose we could get a new tent then--one that he can share with someone else who doesn't."

"Yes, I suppose we could."

---

Raven carefully stacked the firewood he had gathered next to the small pit Lowen was digging for their cooking fire. "Is this enough?" he asked.

Lowen glanced at the pile of wood and nodded. "Yes, that'll do nicely, Raven," the cavalier said, brushing his bangs away from his eyes, and smearing his cheek with dirt in the process. "Supper will be ready in a bit, once Rebecca gets back from hunting."

Raven nodded in acknowledgement and walked away, wondering what he should do next, now that he had finished all his usual chores and had some free time on his hands. It was not his turn on watch, Lucius and Priscilla were busy with their own duties, and he was not quite in the mood for some practice on his own.

A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention; the mercenary turned and saw a familiar figure clad in simple travelling robes, silently making its way to one of the bigger tents. "Mark," Raven said softly to himself. He then remembered his conversation with Eliwood some days ago on how some of the more timid members of the company were more than intimidated by his presence, and that he should assure them that he did not bear any grudge against them.

_No time like the present--I suppose I'll go talk to him now._

Raven walked briskly to the tent; there was a dim glow illuminating the tent's interior now, indicating that Mark had lit a little lantern of some sort. He stood hesitant before the opening of the tent, one hand drawing a flap aside, and waited for his eyes to grow accustomed to the faint lighting.

Mark was laying out his bedroll on the ground, oblivious to Raven's presence. The mercenary called softly, "Mark?"

The tactician started slightly. "Yes?" he asked, turning to face the other man. "Oh, Raven," he said, blinking. "What brings you here?" He stood up, staring more intently. "Please, come in."

Raven accepted the invitation and at Mark's gesture, sat on the bedroll, while the tactician laid out another one. He waited for Mark to take his seat, at the same time studying the other man. Mark's features were firm and grave; his deep-set eyes were dark, and his hair was light brown. Despite the slightly haggard cast to his features and the hint of dark circles under his eyes, he looked barely older than Raven, even though Raven was sure that the tactician was a few years his senior.

Mark also did not seem to be intimidated by his presence in any way, and Raven wondered if Eliwood was mistaken, until he noticed how Mark's fingers shook slightly in nervousness as the tactician smoothed out the folds of the bedroll.

"So," Mark said once he had settled down, "what was it you wanted to talk about?"

Raven decided that the blunt approach was best, so he said, "Lord Eliwood said that I ought to make this clear--I've nothing against you, Mark, so there's no need for you to be so uneasy."

Mark's reaction to his statement was rather surprising, and somewhat comical. The tactician stooped and let out a heavy sigh of relief; when he looked up again, he was grinning. "For a moment there I thought you were going to bite my head off!"

Raven raised one eyebrow. "Whatever made you think that I had a quarrel with you?"

Mark laughed nervously. "Ah, it's just that some people here have found my tactics a little bit unconventional, and they do not really approve. And I noticed that you've been glowering a lot lately, and I thought... you know." He cringed.

"I was glowering at Wil--or perhaps Bartre. Not you. Nor do I question your orders."

"I see. By the way, I've been meaning to ask--"

Mark then proceeded to ask detailed questions on Raven's new weaponry and techniques; Raven answered them as best as he could. "I need to know how my men fight," Mark explained why he wanted to know all this, "so I can deploy them better."

Their discussion was halted however, when they realised they had a bigger audience. Both men turned to see Sain standing within the tent's opening. "Mark!" the knight greeted cheerfully. "Ah, and Raven," he added in a somewhat cautious tone, once he noticed that the tactician had company.

"What is it, Sain?"

"Well, I was just wondering--that is, if you would spare--"

Mark held up his hand and sighed. "How much?"

Sain beamed. "A hundred gold?" he asked, hopeful.

"Absolutely not."

"Fifty?"

Mark let out another sigh before he asked, "What do you need the money for? If it's for buying drinks for the local beauties once we reach Bern tomorrow..."

Sain grinned. "Aha, how did you guess?"

The tactician rolled his eyes. "Go ask someone else, Sain. If you had wanted money for weapons, then maybe. Not that we have a lot of gold to spare anyway--whatever's left is for paying the men." Mark glanced at Raven. "Say, Raven," he asked with a straight face, "want to contribute part of your wages so Sain can buy wine for a few girls?"

"No," Raven replied, at the same time fixing a sharp look at the knight, who flinched slightly.

"Ah... I'll see if Kent would loan me some gold then," Sain said with forced cheerfulness before he walked away, muttering something about how tacticians were more tight-fisted than archers.

"I have been keeping you from your rest," Raven said as he rose to leave; he had noticed that Mark had been blinking a lot throughout their entire conversation--an obvious sign of someone who was trying very hard to stay awake. "Good night."

"Good night, Raven. And thank you."

---

Eliwood stood up and stretched. "I think I'll go and see if supper's ready," he said, "and stop by Mark's tent."

"Eliwood, why don't you go and see how Ninian is doing instead?" Lyndis suggested innocently. "Hector can go and check on Mark."

"What? But I--" Hector began, but Lyndis elbowed him sharply in the ribs to silence him, a gesture that Eliwood did not notice.

"Well, all right. If you'll excuse me," said the young lord, before walking away.

"What was that for?" Hector grumbled, rubbing his side.

"I just thought that it would be a good idea for them to have some time together," Lyndis said, an impish smile on her face. She had noticed the way Ninian looked at Eliwood lately; it was plain to her that the gentle girl was attracted to the lordling.

Unfortunately, what was clear to a person could be murky to another.

"Really? Why?"

Lyndis covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter, while Hector stared at her in confusion. "Never mind," she said, once she recovered her composure. "I'm going to spend some time with Florina. Now make sure our tactician has not wandered off to inspect our inventory."

"Of course, I'll be sure to tuck him in. Shall I read him a story too?"

She could not help but laugh, and with a parting wave, left to find her friend. Hector marched away in the other direction and when he reached the tent Mark occupied, was startled when he very nearly collided with Raven, who was just leaving.

"Sorry," Hector apologised.

The mercenary shrugged. "No harm done, milord," he said, his face without expression.

Now while Hector was not familiar with normal folk, he knew soldiers well, and had been around them more than long enough to detect a touch of hostility in Raven's tone. While it was common knowledge that professional mercenaries like Raven generally did not care much for their paymasters, only for their gold, there was something about the man that hinted there was something much deeper than that.

Hector found it puzzling.

"Milord?"

"Ah--where's Mark?" Hector asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had loomed over them both.

"Asleep." Raven glanced over his shoulder at the tent, then back at Hector. "Is there anything else?"

Again, the barest touch of enmity in the mercenary's voice. Normally Hector would have just shrugged it off, but now that he had the time to do it he might as well determine if the mercenary bore him any grudges, for the last thing this company needed was dissension in its ranks.

And knowing how the minds of soldiers worked, there was one easy way to find out.

"Well, there is one thing." Hector stared at the other man. "Would you care for a sparring round?"

Raven's eyes narrowed ever so slightly before he nodded. "I'd be honoured," he answered.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Zornhut: Chapter 8_**

* * *

Author's note: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.

* * *

Hector padded off to Merlinus' tent, where the practice weapons were stored. Someone--probably Merlinus himself--had already thoughtfully arranged the weapons on a rack just next to tent, for it was normal for some of the company to hold sparring bouts with each other whenever they had free time. The Ostian lordling selected one of the axes and gave it a quick inspectory glance. 

The head of the weapon was made from iron; the axe blade was blunted, and was balanced by the _maillet, _a hammer-like attachment on the other side of the head. The whole component was fixed to the wooden shaft with metal bolts. The shaft itself was roughly half a man's height and was fitted with _languets_--long strips of steel running down the shaft from the head on all sides, meant to strengthen the wooden shaft and protect it from damage.

Hector retrieved another axe from the rack, one identical to the axe he held, and gave that to Raven. The mercenary hefted the weapon in his hands, testing its weight and balance before he nodded in approval. "Ready?" Hector asked.

"Yes, milord."

The two men then moved on to the clearing, attracting the attention of the rest of the company as they passed by. By the time they reached the area almost half of the troops lagged behind them, undoubtedly curious and a little more than excited at the prospects of witnessing a practice bout between one of their leaders and one of their own. There was still enough light for both men to spar; even though it would get darker eventually, the light from the main campfire would be more than enough to compensate.

Hector stepped into the middle of the clearing, while Raven stood before him. The mercenary moved into a guard position, smoothly putting his right leg forward, knees slightly bent, with his axe held slightly low on his left side. While Hector was never properly instructed in the axe and had learned its use in the arenas and assorted bouts, the Ostian lordling knew enough from facing previous opponents to recognise someone who had received formal training, and Raven was clearly was one such person.

_This ought to be interesting._

"Don't hold back on my account," Hector said, grinning.

"I won't, milord."

Hector mirrored Raven's stance and slowly nodded once to signal that he was ready. The mercenary returned the gesture, and only a brief moment passed before he immediately rushed in with a blow, aiming the hammer end of his weapon at Hector's neck. A little bit surprised, for he never expected Raven to deal the first blow, Hector barely sidestepped away in time to dodge the attack.

He retaliated with a downward swing aimed at Raven's shoulder, but the mercenary moved into a ward position; when the axes made contact on the wooden shaft, Raven stepped forward and pushed hard with his arms fully extended, hoping to disarm Hector.

Hector braced most of his weight on his back foot and held his ground. When Raven realised that his opponent would not budge and he was in danger of losing his own weapon, he quickly stepped back and moved into a lower guard position, catching his breath. Hector did not waste any time and feinted a one-handed cut to Raven's left side; the mercenary responded by moving his axe to block the attack, but was surprised when Hector altered the blow in mid-swing so it aimed for his shoulder.

The mercenary just had enough time to dodge, and immediately countered with a wild swing that was meant to make Hector back off for a moment, rather than a real attack. Hector noted that Raven's eyes narrowed slightly, indicating that the man was not too pleased with how this sparring round was going.

Hector decided that they were surprisingly quite well-matched; while Hector clearly had the upper hand in terms of strength and experience, what Raven lacked in those areas he made up for in speed and technique. His swift footwork allowed him to dodge the blows directed at him and thanks to his formal training, he knew when and how exactly to deal with the attacks he couldn't dodge, stopping the blows with the steel-protected shaft of his axe.

Hector had never had this much fun in weeks.

They continued to trade blows, and with each attack and parry, Hector learned more about Raven's skills. The mercenary clearly knew all the guards, wards and counters, but his attacks were limited to a few basic moves--obviously he was not familiar enough with the axe to go beyond the set routines he was taught just yet.

_Let's see how he deals with something a little more unorthodox._

Hector feinted a downward attack aimed at the man's right leg; as he expected, Raven brought his axe up to meet the blow. Timing it just right, Hector hooked his axe against Raven's own and tugged it upwards, wanting to knock the weapon out of the mercenary's hands.

Hector had not expected Raven to release one hand from his grip on his axe, and for the man to rush forward.

He definitely had _not_ anticipated the punch to his jaw either.

Hector staggered slightly under the blow, and that moment of distraction was long enough for Raven to step back and unhook his weapon from Hector's. However, the Ostian lordling quickly recovered and before Raven could take advantage of the situation, launched into a rapid sequence of swings and jabs, forcing the mercenary to move back into a more defensive stance.

_Good thing he does not wear vambraces._

"Very good," Hector said, grinning as he rubbed his sore jaw with one hand.

"I learn fast," Raven said in reply; Hector's grin grew slightly wider.

_Dropped the 'milord' there. If he was holding back before, he sure isn't now. _

Raven moved in to attack with a quick jab; instead of simply dodging away or meeting the blow with his own axe, Hector decided on using a counter he had learned in the arena some time ago. Gripping his axe with his right hand, he timed the blow so he deflected the attack with his own weapon, at the same time bringing his left arm up to grab Raven's left wrist. Hector took a huge step back and dragged the mercenary along with him; then he quickly moved one step to his left as he pushed their locked weapons sharply to the right, forcing Raven to lose his balance, and to either release his grip on his axe or risk breaking his wrist.

The axe fell to the ground and its owner followed a moment after, landing on the grass on his side with a thud. Raven turned so he was flat on his back, and looked up only to find Hector's weapon pointed at his neck.

"Not bad," Hector said, panting slightly, "not bad at all." The Ostian lordling moved his weapon away and extended his hand, offering to help the other man to stand.

Raven glared at the offered hand, and for a moment Hector thought that the mercenary would just slap his hand aside, and thus reinforcing the idea the man did in fact hold a grudge of sorts against him. Instead, Raven simply ignored the offered assistance and got up on his own, brushing his clothes as he did.

Hector relaxed slightly. "Thank you for the round."

The reply was almost a growl; there was still that touch of hostility in the mercenary's voice, but the other man had nothing more than an annoyed scowl on his face. "Thank you for the lesson, milord." Raven turned and stormed off; the crowd moved aside to make way for the mercenary.

"Was that really necessary?" Oswin asked when Hector moved away from the clearing.

Hector shrugged. "I just wanted to know a few things about him. And you know how soldiers are, Oswin," he said, "especially hired swords like him. You can never learn anything about them, except in a good fight." He absently rubbed his jaw before he winced slightly.

"And?"

"He's just a proud one, that lad--stubborn too." Hector started back for his tent, Oswin trailing behind him. "At first I thought he holds something against me, but now I think I know better. Just one of those men who gets annoyed when he finds someone better at something he does, for he's used to being the best."

Hector did not know that he was only half right.

---

Raven stormed away from the camp, giving Wil a vicious look in warning when the archer tried to follow him. The younger man gulped and stopped in his tracks, his sense of self-preservation greater than his worry for the mercenary.

Raven knew without looking over his shoulder that someone had chosen not to follow Wil's example; judging by the sound of footsteps, the man was trailing not far behind. "Leave me alone, Lucius."

"But--" the monk began, but Raven did not give him a chance to finish.

"Leave me be!"

"As you wish, Lord Raven." The monk sounded hurt, but Raven was not quite in the mood at the moment to be concerned with feelings other than that of his own.

Once he judged that he was far enough from the camp, he gave in to the need to release his anger and frustration. He curled his right hand into a fist and punched the nearest tree, sending bits of loose bark into the air. He repeated this a few more times before the pain finally registered when his thoughts had calmed somewhat.

Raven crossed his arms and leaned against the tree, frowning. He was unaccustomed to losing; to be defeated in a bout--even a practice one--was a mark against his pride in his own skills. To be defeated by Hector of all people was aggravating, but it was not the main reason why he was so angry.

What really angered him was the fact that while _he_ had not held back one bit during that bout, he could tell that Hector did. As much as Raven hated to admit it, the other man's skills was far greater than his own. Before the sparring round, he had the notion of simply killing Hector when this campaign ended; the plan was simple--he would just play the part of the hired sword and do whatever he was told and bide his time, but in the end, he would kill Hector in a battle and have his revenge on House Ostia.

Now he was not too sure. Even with the magical crest enhancing his abilities, he could not best Hector in a fight. And now that he was thinking more clearly, he also knew and reluctantly admitted to himself that even if he did manage to drastically improve his swordplay, another duel with Hector would likely bear the same result as tonight.

He needed a new plan. Since he had doubts of his chances in combat against Hector, only one other option came to his mind.

Assassination.

Part of him utterly loathed the very thought of it; an attack without warning, a quick sword-thrust in the dark--it went against the very core of all that he was taught. But another tiny part of him reminded himself that while the act was not honourable in any way, he had certainly found nothing honourable in the manner of his parents' death. House Ostia had killed them, and he was going to make them pay.

Raven considered the idea; it certainly seemed simple enough to execute. All he had to do was slip inside Hector's tent while the lordling was unarmed and occupied, or asleep, and finish the man off. However, what was he going to do when the deed was done? He could just slip away in the night, but what of the people he would leave behind--Lucius and Priscilla? He could not say whether their safety was guaranteed.

No, assassination was not a suitable alternative at all, he decided, feeling slightly relieved. He was not too comfortable with the idea to begin with, and the possible consequences to the act were not to his liking. He would just have to find another way to settle his score.

"Damn it all!" he swore as he turned around, and gave the tree another blow with his fist. He hit it a few more times before he decided that it was time for him to go back to the camp.

He was not too worried about storming off in the first place, for sometimes a few of the members of the party got carried away in sparring rounds and had done the same in order to calm themselves and relieve their frustration--although he was doubtful if they had indulged in destroying trees as he did. He had not gone long, but it was probably better to start back anyway, just in case anyone got curious.

He would just have to think of another plan of action in the morning. Right now his hand was starting to hurt.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Zornhut: Chapter 9_**

* * *

Author's note: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.

* * *

Raven was in a foul mood, and so was a good third of the company he was travelling in. Their quest to find the location of the Shrine of Seals had been delayed by not one, but two battles with the Black Fang. The first was an attack that was led by Lloyd, the White Wolf himself, while Pascal Grentzer, the former count of Landskron, had led the second.

It was the latter particularly that did nothing good for his temper. Hector had insisted on going after the thieves who stole the Fire Emblem from the palace at Bern, claiming that he had received the information of the thieves' hideout from a reliable source. Eliwood had been rather wary of the idea and had proposed going straight to the palace itself, but Hector had stood firm with his own plan.

Hector's source was reliable in a way, for it was information planted by the thieves themselves. The company's quarry was more than ready for them, for the thieves--yet more of the Black Fang--had prepared themselves in an ambush. Even though the company emerged victorious in the battle, they were no closer to the location of the Fire Emblem than before. Raven decided that he now hated Hector even more for making him go on a wild goose chase, not to mention into an obvious trap.

_So much for Ostian intelligence. Not that I actually had much faith in it._

The party had moved deeper into Bern and reached the capital, glad for an opportunity to replenish their equipment. None of the local inns could take them in, for most of the rooms were full, but an innkeeper had helpfully directed them to a field just outside the city that made an ideal campsite. Some few miles away from the field stood the royal palace of Bern and personally, Raven found that fortress would be a more fitting word.

From what he could tell, the building was well built and occupied a well-defended site. Mountains guarded the castle on three sides and the only point of entry was from the south, where any attackers would first have to deal with a massive twin-towered gatehouse well-guarded by in-built defences in the buttressed walls and of course, by Bern's own wyvern knights.

Raven found himself wondering how anyone could steal anything from the palace and apparently, so did the lordlings, for all three of them, with Mark in tow, had left for the palace to see if they could find any vital piece of information. Mark had left orders that the troops should wait for their return at camp and be ready for battle at a moment's notice, should something happen.

"And knowing our luck," the tactician had said wryly before he left, "something usually does."

-------------------

It was about noon when a group of wyvern riders appeared in the skies without warning. The leader of the riders, a tall woman with a scar on her face, had swooped down in an intent to capture Nils; only the timely return of the lordlings saved the boy from being carried off.

At the time most of the company members were busy with minor chores and thus a trifle scattered all over the field, but most importantly, all were armed. When Nils had shouted in alarm they simply dropped whatever they were doing, drew their weapons and readied themselves to meet the enemy. To their surprise, more opponents emerged from their hiding places in the mountains. Most were brigands, but there were also a few archers and a magic-user or two.

Raven did not like the odds one bit, especially when he spotted more wyvern riders flying in. And judging by the grim look on Mark's face as the tactician sped back to camp, shouting orders to assorted people as he ran, the mercenary was not alone in his opinion.

"Raven, get to the north," Mark said. "Wil and Lucius are to go with you, but don't get too close to the palace. Go!"

Raven nodded to show that he understood and moved as fast as he could to where Mark had indicated. "You're with me, Lucius," he said when he saw his friend; Lucius nodded and hurried after him. Wil was already ahead of them both, for the archer stood some ways ahead, waving one hand in excitement.

The three men reached their position just in time to see Hector dispatching off a shaman with his axe. "What took you so long?" the Ostian lordling said crossly.

"Hector," Lyndis said in reproach.

Wil made a nervous chuckle that was meant to be an apology of sorts. "Lyn--I mean, Lady Lyndis, Mark said you and Lord Eliwood should move to the rear, more of those brigands have appeared. Lord Hector is to remain here. Lady Louise, we need you at the ballistae with Rebecca. Lord Pent is to guard you both. There are wyvern riders everywhere and Mark says the further we can keep them away, the better."

"Understood. Shall we, Lyndis?" Eliwood said. The swordswoman nodded in reply and both hastened away, Pent and Louise trailing after them.

Raven drew his axe, forced himself to focus on the situation at hand and ignore his distaste of having Hector close by. As much as he loathed the man, the idea of getting injured--or worse, dying--in battle because he made a foolish mistake, was something he liked even less.

"This ought to be interesting," Wil said cheerfully.

"Shut up, " Raven growled.

The archer only grinned and moved a bit to the rear to find a better spot for him to shoot. He nocked an arrow in his longbow, drew the string back and aimed at the approaching group of six wyvern riders. His expression was that of intense concentration, and it was a long moment before he finally let his arrow loose. Raven watched the projectile soar before it sank into the left wing of one of the wyverns, drawing a loud pained growl from the beast.

Raven knew the routine; Wil would deal as much damage as possible to the riders from afar, while he and Hector were to finish them off once they were close enough for a melee. Lucius was to deal with magic-users should any appear, but he would serve mainly as a healer. Mark always made sure each group had one in close vicinity, now that most of the company's magic-users were able to use healing staffs, thanks to their Guiding Rings.

Arrow after arrow flew from Wil's longbow; the archer had managed to sink at least one into each of the wyverns before they were finally close enough for both Hector and Raven to engage. The wyvern riders were mostly armed with lances, but Raven spotted two at the rear with javelins. "Lucius, stay back!" he yelled over his shoulder before he moved to meet his first opponent.

The wyvern rider dove sharply, his lance aimed at Raven, while his mount roared in a challenge. Raven knew that the roar from the animals was only meant to distract him, for wyverns rarely attacked on their own--they left that all to their masters. He stood his ground until he judged the moment was right and sidestepped, and then swung his axe in a roundhouse blow.

The axe blade bit deep into the wyvern rider's unprotected arm. The man yelled in pain, then veered his mount sharply upward before diving in for another attack. He aimed slightly higher this time, but Raven was ready. The mercenary moved a step backward and deflected the lance thrust with his shield, before he turned and delivered a powerful back-swing that was aimed roughly at the rider's waist; the man toppled from his seat, lifeless, and his wyvern fled.

Raven risked a look around and saw that Hector had already disposed of one rider and was currently engaging another. Wil was firing shots at a few brigands at the cliffs, who were rapidly making their way down, with Lucius casting spells at them when the archer was occupied with the business of nocking his arrows. Satisfied that all seemed well, Raven turned his attention to his next enemy.

His second opponent proved slightly harder to deal with; Raven earned more than a few cuts and small wounds from the wyvern rider's lance before he finally managed to kill the man with a hard blow to the torso--a blow that effectively ruined his axe. He tossed the weapon away, for it had been rendered useless, the edge horrendously gouged and ruined when it made contact with part of the rider's armour.

He thought that it did not matter much, for the last enemy he had to deal had met with three of Wil's arrows; two in the wyvern's wing and belly, and one in the rider's own upper leg. He reached for his hand axe; one good throw would finish the rider off once the man was in range.

He had time to check on his comrades, so he did, and was alarmed at the sight of a brigand creeping towards Wil and Lucius from behind. His two friends did not notice the man, for they were still occupied with the ones making their way down from the mountains.

"Behind you!" Raven yelled in warning.

Fortunately, Wil already had an arrow nocked and ready to fire. The archer turned and an instant later, he loosened his arrow at the would-be attacker. The brigand staggered when he took the hit in the shoulder, but it was not enough to kill him; outraged, he rushed towards the two young men, his axe brandished in the air. Wil frantically reached for another arrow, while Lucius started to chant, but it was unlikely that he would have time to finish casting his spell before it was too late.

Raven flung his throwing axe at the brigand with all his might. His aim was true; the weapon struck the man in the head, killing him instantly. Raven had no time to indulge in relief however, for he felt a sudden stirring of air from behind, and he heard the distinct sound of the flapping wings of a wyvern. Instinct made him throw himself to one side, sparing him from being skewered in the chest by the wyvern rider's thrown javelin.

Unfortunately for him, he was not fast enough to dodge away completely. The javelin missed its intended mark--his chest--but scored a hit in his upper leg. The wound was deep and Raven could not help but utter a cry of pain. Gritting his teeth, he rolled to one side and somehow managed to get on his feet before he drew his sword. He ignored the pain and the bleeding in his leg; his wound would have to be taken care of later.

The wyvern rider flew in retreat, more interested in saving his own hide rather than risking a duel with Raven. His remaining compatriot was currently trading blows with Hector and certainly looked soon to be the loser in that duel.

A shout of challenge caught Raven's attention. One of the brigands descending the cliffs had altered his route down and instead of trying to get to Wil and Lucius, he had moved closer to Raven and was now charging madly, his iron axe ready to swing in attack.

Raven deflected the first blow with his shield and winced from the force he took on his arm; then another blow, then another. His opponent seemed to have gone somewhat berserk, continually raining blows, and it was almost all he could do stand his ground. A wild upper swing from his enemy gave him an opening and he aimed a quick thrust at the man's exposed side, but his blade failed to find its mark.

Raven instantly knew that the wound in his leg was weakening him and that he had to finish the brigand off quickly, while he was still able to stand. Unfortunately it was not as easy as it sounded; his enemy gave him no room to strike, and his own movements were getting more sluggish. He raised his shield to deflect a downward blow, but the bandit altered the swing in mid-air, and Raven was forced to try and block the attack with his sword.

It was at that moment disaster chose to struck. When one is forced to try and deflect or block an attack made with an axe with his sword, one had to meet the axe's wooden shaft with the flat of one's blade. But with the pain from his wound, and exhaustion seeping in, Raven made a grave error.

He caught the axe's sharp edge with the edge of his own sword.

A hard-tempered sword like Raven's was indeed strong, but its edges were delicate. Edge to edge parrying not only ruined the blade, gouging nicks in the blade's edge, but it could also break the blade itself. It was unfortunate for Raven that the latter came about; he felt a sharp pain in his wrist as he blocked the brigand's attack, and then the sharp metallic clunk of his sword breaking into two halves. He flung the useless half in his grip away and held his shield with both hands.

"Wil!" he shouted, hoping that the brigand was in range of the archer's longbow. Apparently it was not so, for he thought he heard Wil utter a loud curse. He also heard rapid footsteps heading towards him, probably Lucius rushing in aid, but he was not sure he could hold out any longer.

His attacker delivered a blow to his shield that nearly drove him to his knees. His injured leg was about to give, and Raven felt sure he was going to collapse when suddenly, he heard his attacker gave an odd little croak, and the attacks stopped. He lowered his shield to the sight of the brigand collapsing slowly to the ground, a small throwing axe lodged firmly in the man's side.

The pain was almost excruciating now; he closed his eyes and willed himself not to black out. His leg did give out at that moment and he would have collapsed to the ground, if it were not for his rescuer's arm reaching out to support him by the waist. He feebly tried to push the supporting arm away, but all he got in return for his effort was an annoyed reprimand. "Will you keep still?"

He felt his arm being drawn over his rescuer's shoulder, and he was helped to a spot where he could sit down and lean against a tree, while his leg was mended. He heard someone utter something about their enemies retreating, but he could not tell whom. Someone else gently probed his wound, and he sensed healing magic being worked on him.

He could feel muscle and flesh gradually becoming whole again, and the pain slowly faded away to nothing more than a dull sensation. His mind cleared, he opened his eyes and saw the face of his rescuer, looking at him with great concern, and the first thing that came to his mind was the thought that he would rather be dead.

It was Hector who had saved his life.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Zornhut: Chapter 10_**

* * *

Author's note: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.

* * *

To say that Lucius was merely concerned for Raven would be an understatement.

Lucius had constantly worried for Raven ever since he had entered into service for House Cornwell, when Raven was Lord Raymond, and not the surly mercenary the rest of the company knew. These past few days however, Lucius' concern for him had gone from simple worry to great distress, for Raven's behaviour had altered rather greatly ever since they had left Bern.

Raven still ran his errands dutifully, true, and he remained respectful to the company's leaders--except for Hector, whom he simply avoided altogether--but to the rest of the troops, it was a different story. If the man's disposition made him unapproachable before, he seemed downright hostile now, even to the few members of the company who had managed to befriend him.

Rebecca dared to smile and greet him only from afar, while Bartre had stopped sparring with him, claiming that the man had nothing more to learn from the warrior, but Lucius suspected the real reason was that Raven had nearly beheaded the man with a throwing axe during their last practice bout; while Lucius knew that Raven's aim was true and that little incident with the axe was nothing but show, Bartre did not, and the man apparently was not taking any risks.

Wil too, had noticed Raven's change in demeanour and--somewhat foolishly, Lucius thought--tried to lift the man's spirits, but all he earned from his well-intentioned gesture was a glare and a sharp reply, telling the archer to mind his own business. Wil spent most of his free time with Rath after that.

Even Lucius himself found Raven acting rather cool and distant towards him; whenever he asked Raven what troubled him, the younger man merely brushed him off politely, and whenever Lucius got persistent, the man simply snapped at him before walking away, effectively ending the conversation. Lucius then guessed that the change in Raven's behaviour was to be blamed on that occasion in Bern, when Hector had saved Raven in battle.

When the man one swore to kill has saved one's own life, what would one do? Lucius could understand Raven's confusion. Despite the younger man's vow to seek revenge on Ostia and the two years of hard soldiering he had endured, Lucius knew that he had not changed much. Beneath that unfriendly disposition, Raven was still the Raymond of old; a man would not let his own debts go unpaid, and a man with care in his heart.

But now he was no longer so certain, Lucius thought to himself as he tried to comfort the distressed young woman in front of him.

"He said that he was no longer my brother, Lucius," Priscilla said, almost in tears. "And he told me to leave! How could he?"

"There, there," Lucius said gently, "you know how he is, Lady Priscilla. Your brother has a lot on his mind, that is all."

"I finally found him after all these years, and now..." Priscilla lowered her gaze to the ground and made a soft, sniffling sound. "Lucius," she said after a moment, "is he planning something dangerous?"

"I... I cannot say, Lady Priscilla."

"He must be!" Priscilla looked up and stared at Lucius. "Lucius, answer me this," she said, "whatever my brother is planning--does it have to do with our parents? What happened to them?"

Lucius' mouth opened and closed, but he could not utter a response. He simply did not know where to begin--or even if he should. If Raven himself refused to discuss what had happened to House Cornwell with his own sister, Lucius was not sure if he had the right to do so.

Priscilla must have noticed his hesitation, for she merely smiled weakly. "It's all right, Lucius," she assured him. "You need not tell me anything. I will find the answers on my own, somehow. But please, try to talk to my brother?"

Lucius nodded, smiling. "All right, Lady Priscilla. Please, do not worry so much--I'm sure that Lord Raymond did not mean to yell at you so. He'll come along and apologise, I know he will."

_At least I hope so. I really do._

-------------------

The subject of their conversation was at the other side of the camp, left to his own thoughts. He was thinking about a different conversation altogether--one that he had with Eliwood just this morning.

"How is your leg, Raven?" the lordling had asked. "I noticed that you're still limping a bit."

"A little stiff," he had answered truthfully, for his leg had bothered him a little, "but I'm told that would go away."

"That's good. I hope to see you back in action soon." Raven had missed out on the last few skirmishes with the Black Fang on account of his injury, and apparently Eliwood had found it rather odd not having his presence in battle, for Mark fielded the mercenary at almost every single opportunity.

"Lord Eliwood?"

"Yes?"

"How long have you known Lord Hector?"

Eliwood had smiled at that question. "Ever since we were children. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious." There had been a long pause before he asked his next question. "Is he anything like his brother?"

"Like Lord Uther, you mean? Well, not exactly. Hector tends to speak his own mind--you might say he's rather brusque--and he's a bit on the reckless side, but he's as loyal and as just as his brother. There is no one I'd rather have as a good friend." Eliwood had looked at him curiously then. "Thinking of serving with Ostia after this campaign, Raven?" the lordling asked.

"Perhaps," he had lied before he made his excuses and left.

Raven sighed. There were times he regretted his decision to join this company. He may have found his sister and was now closer to his goal of seeking revenge on Ostia, but he was also plagued with doubts on his personal mission ever since he was recruited into the company ranks. It would have been so much simpler just to kill Hector when Raven first encountered the company back in Caelin, but Raven now knew that back then he had no chance of defeating Hector in combat.

He had argued with Priscilla just this morning when she asked him if he was planning anything dangerous. In truth, he could not even_ think_ of a plan. Back in Caelin, Lucius had reminded him that he could not just turn back on Lord Hausen, but he had considered all his debts to the man paid in full; he had served in the Caelin army and had defended Caelin as best as he could. This time it was different, for Hector had saved him and he personally owed the man in return; he could not bring himself to make an attempt on the Ostian lordling's life.

_As loyal and as just as his brother._

He could not stop thinking of Eliwood's words, and found himself wondering whether what he believed all this time was the truth--that Ostia was indeed personally responsible for the death of his parents. He had accepted the council of lords' decision to strip Cornwell of its peerage and to seize all its assets when they had discovered his father had been stealing funds from the alliance in order to cover debts--his parents had hidden their actions so well that even their own son had no idea of what they had done until the very end--but the murder of his parents was something he could not accept, nor forgive.

_But was it murder in the first place?_

If Eliwood was right, and that both the Ostian lord and lordling were as just and fair as he believed, then Ostia could not have been responsible for the deaths of the marquess and marquise of Cornwell.

_But if Ostia was not, then who was? _

Raven needed answers, and he wondered who could provide them. Any of the Ostians were absolutely out of the question; Matthew and Oswin would surely side with their liege, no matter what the truth was. Serra? He almost laughed at the very idea of asking her for any information.

Eliwood was a possibility, but the lordling was Hector's good friend, and his opinion might be somewhat biased. Besides, Raven knew that the man had been burdened enough already and had no wish to trouble him any further. As for Lyndis, it was highly unlikely that she would know anything of the Cornwell affair, for it happened before she had discovered the truth about her noble lineage.

Raven's gaze fell upon Sain and Kent, who were talking leisurely while they saddled their mounts, ready to go out on patrol. The Caelin knights--Kent, especially--perhaps knew something of the events that led to the demise of Cornwell, but Raven would rather not ask them unless he absolutely had to; he simply did not know them well enough to do so. While mercenaries like Raven himself had formed the core of the Caelin infantry, they had never really gotten along with the household knights; the latter mostly did not have a high opinion of sellswords, who fought only for money and had no real loyalties, unlike the knights.

Lucius' own knowledge of the affair was no greater than his own. His old friend had no desire to seek the truth, and was more interested in seeing him settle down somewhere, perhaps in one of the few family manors in Araphen that the council of lords could not seize, for they belonged to his late mother and technically were still the property of her kin.

Wallace? Raven considered the idea, but decided against it. The man had probably gotten himself lost somewhere when Cornwell was investigated for leeching alliance funds, and probably had no clue as to even _where_ Cornwell was.

No, he had to find his answers from someone else, but there were so few in this company he dared to ask. He sighed as he looked around, and his gaze settled on a small tent near the centre of the camp--Mark's tent.

There was talk among the company that their tactician was of noble birth; soldiers, Raven noticed, were almost as notorious as old women when it came to gossiping. If the rumours were indeed true, it did not surprise Raven a bit; he had noticed that while Mark acted in deference to their leaders, there was a certain formal stiffness in him that conveyed the sense that he did not feel inferior in status to any of them. There were other things Raven had observed as well, such as the tactician's tendency to talk in formal speech, and his clothes. While the simple robes he wore certainly_ looked_ plain, the material was of very fine weave and quality, something no simple commoner could afford.

Mark also did not poke into the personal affairs of the troops and was more than perfectly happy to turn a deaf ear and a blind eye to most of the mischief that went on in the company, such as Matthew or Legault's occasional thieving, and Heath's wyvern sneaking off to snack on the food supplies stored in Merlinus' wagon. As far as Raven could tell, Mark made sure the troops were well taken care of, and he asked only for their cooperation in return. The tactician did not care much for their history and backgrounds; he had jumped at the chance to recruit both Nino and Jaffar at Bern when the company was trying save Prince Zephiel, whereas any other man would have not even considered the idea. His decision to enlist Jaffar made a good two-thirds of the troops nervous, but it had paid off; the assassin soon proved to be an indispensable member of the company.

Raven decided that if there was someone he could ask for answers and not worry about having to give any of his own, it would be the tactician. If Mark was indeed of noble birth, he was likely to be informed of the Cornwell affair and perhaps knew what Raven did not, and Raven could count on the tactician's belief of not prying into business that was not his own to make sure anything he would ask remained between themselves.

But he would have to ask all his questions later, for now it was his turn at guard duty. He reluctantly buckled on his swordbelt as he made his way to the edge of the camp, and saw Priscilla talking with Lucius; his sister still looked very much upset. He immediately started feeling rather guilty over the fact that he had snapped at her this morning, and made a mental note to apologise to her tomorrow.

Raven then took his place some distance away from camp, strangely enough, feeling somewhat relieved. His improving mood must have been obvious, for when Wil joined him later, the archer had the courage to talk to him again. He ended up spending most of his time on watch telling Wil to shut up, while the archer cheerfully ignored him.

His routine was almost back to normal, and he found it comforting.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Zornhut: Chapter 11_**

* * *

Author's notes: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark. There is also no House Carmarthen mentioned in the game; Carmarthen is the name of a castle in Wales. I thought it would be fitting to have Mark's House named after it, since there is a Caerleon in Wales as well, and in my story Mark is from Etruria, like Priscilla.

* * *

"Where's the water?" Mark said, slightly exasperated. "I want my tea." 

Canas chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his head. He said, "I asked Wallace to get it--"

"Wait, did you say Wallace? You sent _Wallace_ to get the water?"

"Well, yes. I certainly don't see why..." Canas' voice trailed off and there was a moment of silence when the easily flustered shaman recalled their huge comrade's penchant for getting lost. "Oh. _Oh dear,"_ Canas said, somewhat worried. "That wasn't a good thing to do, was it?"

"No, I rather imagine it wasn't."

"I'll go look for him," Guy volunteered. "Come on, Rath."

The nomad trooper nodded and both of the plainsmen headed off in the direction of the river. Canas offered to go with them, but Mark told him no.

"I think you're better off doing something else."

"Like what?" Canas asked, puzzled. Mark pointed in one direction; Canas turned to look and gasped.

Not too far away, Vaida's wyvern was happily gnawing on what seemed to be a very large and thick book, with Vaida herself seated comfortably on the wyvern's back, an amused look on her face. "Isn't that book yours?" Mark asked.

"Oh my! That particular tome is quite rare! Excuse me, please," Canas said hurriedly before he rushed to rescue his book from the wyvern.

Raven resisted the urge to chuckle. Only then did Mark noticed his presence, for the tactician turned to look at the mercenary for a moment before he spoke. "I know what you're thinking," Mark said. "Vaida's wyvern is happily snacking on poor Canas' books, yet the tactician is doing absolutely _nothing_ about it, and you're wondering why."

The corners of Raven's mouth turned very slightly upwards in the tiniest of smiles. "I suppose so, yes."

"Simple," Mark said, shrugging. "Partly it is because if I were to sort out every single wrangle between everyone in here, I would never get anything done. But that is not the main reason why I never interfere with your quarrels."

"And the main reason?"

"Self-preservation." Mark paused to listen to the loud satisfied roar of Vaida's wyvern, which was followed by Vaida's own laughter. Canas must have lost yet another book. "Why, pray tell, would I want to get between two well-trained soldiers--in this case, an experienced soldier on a hungry wyvern, and a book-loving magic-user who can use dangerous spells--especially when I can barely use a butter knife without nicking myself?"

"Good point."

"Yes, I would say so myself. So what can I do for you, Raven?"

"Actually, I would like to have a word with you. In private."

Mark nodded. "All right. Let's talk inside, then." He stepped into his tent, Raven following him. The tactician went to a corner of the tent and rummaged through a pile of supplies, while Raven walked towards some crates that served as desk and stools. "Well, since we've no hot water, I can't make you some tea... Wine?"

"Yes, thank you." Raven sat down on one of the smaller crates and he could not help but glance at the assorted documents that lay on the makeshift desk. There were a few maps and blank parchments, but what caught Raven's attention were some unopened letters, dumped carelessly in one corner.

Riders bearing the livery of Ostia and occasionally, Pherae and Caelin, came at uncertain intervals, bearing messages and missives for their lordlings. A rider had reached their camp this morning, but he was clad in plain travelling gear and was not accompanied with an armed escort. His arrival had caused some concern when he ran into Kent on patrol, but after he had demonstrated that he was unarmed and was merely a messenger, he had been allowed into the camp. The rider had talked briefly with the company's leaders and tactician and handed them a bundle of letters before he left as quickly as he came, leaving the rest of the troops in wonder.

The letters that the messenger had carried now lay on the desk, unopened but for two. Raven recognised the royal seals of assorted noble Houses on most of them, while the two that had been unsealed and were now folded halfway, had a seal from a House he had never seen. He stared for a moment at the unfamiliar crest before he turned and looked elsewhere, for he did not want to make an impression he was trying to read what was written in the letters.

Mark must have noticed his curiosity. "House Carmarthen. We're one of those small cadet branches no one seems to remember," the tactician explained with a grin. "Letters from home. One from my brother, telling me that he is greatly pleased with my progress, and one from my mother, telling me I should just forget this foolishness and go home." He looked amused.

"Your brother? Not your father?"

"Father's old. My brother Steffen runs the lands now." Mark looked at the other missives and sighed. "As for the rest, I do not even have to open them to know that they are offers to obtain my service after this campaign is over."

"And will you accept one of them?"

Mark shook his head. "I mean no offense, Raven, but after all this is over, I am going home and I do _not_ want to see anything even remotely resembling soldiering or tactics for a year. All I want to do is to catch up on my sleep." He then pushed some of the documents on the desk to one side, in order to make room for the two cups of wine he brought. Raven took one and drank from it; the wine had a nice, rich flavour. "So what can I do for you?" asked Mark.

Raven took a deep breath before he began. He had decided some time ago that it would be best to forget skirting around the issue, and make his inquiry straight away. "I wondered," he said, "if you are familiar with the details of the Cornwell affair."

Mark tapped his chin absently as he asked, a slight frown on his face, "Cornwell affair? That was about two years ago, correct?"

Raven nodded. "I served House Cornwell before I went to Caelin," he said in explanation. It was not even a lie; the heir was to dutifully serve his own House and to act in its best interests, after all. "I wish to know what happened to the marquess and marquise in the end."

"I see." Mark started tapping the table, instead of his chin, looking thoughtful. "Let me refresh my memory. The marquess was convicted for leeching funds in order to pay off certain debts, yes? And the League of Lycia stripped Cornwell of its peerage and confiscated all of its estates."

Raven nodded again. That much was public knowledge now, but he still had to resist the urge to clench his fists.

"What makes you think I would know whatever happened to the lord and lady?" The question sounded sincere; the tactician was merely puzzled, nothing more. At least that was what Raven thought he sounded like.

The mercenary shrugged. "Ostia is not the only one with spies."

Mark chuckled. "True," he admitted, "Carmarthen has some of its own, and so does every other House, but none has a network as good as Ostia's. The Tacticians' Guild fares slightly better on that count, however. We do not have spies everywhere, but we can manage."

"I'm not surprised. Getting information so it's easier for you tacticians to seek employment opportunities?"

"And staying out of certain conflicts that are unlikely to benefit any of the parties involved. But I digress." Mark took another sip from his cup of wine. "I know very little of the Cornwell incident, but here is what I've gathered from the guild's own sources. After their peerage was stripped and their properties were seized, the lord and his lady went north to a small manor. That particular holding belonged to Lady Cornwell's family, so it was spared from seizure. They took a few servants along with them, while the rest of the household staff had to seek employment elsewhere."

That tallied with what Raven knew. His parents had left Cornwell with only his old armsmaster, two servants and a groom. "The rest of the family? What of them?" he asked.

"What, you mean the son? I believe he was sent away before the League began their investigation. One of Lord Cornwell's acquaintances must have taken him in, I suppose. I do not know what became of him, at any rate." There was a pause before Mark added, "They had a daughter as well, but she was given up for adoption when she was very young. I was a child then, so I do not recall the details."

"And?"

"What I have next are mostly assumptions. Not much is confirmed."

"I'd be interested in hearing them anyway."

"As you wish." Mark shrugged. "The marquess and marquise seemed to have settled down with their new life in the country, but only a week passed before they were found dead."

"Murdered," Raven said without thinking.

"I don't think so," Mark replied, while the mercenary stared at him in surprise. Fortunately, the tactician seemed not to have noticed the other's reaction to his statement, for he was staring off into space, a thoughtful expression on his face. "As far as we could determine, no other party entered the holding since the lord and lady's arrival."

Raven did clench his fists this time. "So you are saying that the Ostians had no hand in the deed? But the rumours..."

"Rumours, Raven. The problem with rumours is that even though they are usually based on the truth, they tend to get the details wrong. There was a detachment of knights from Ostia sent to the manor, like in the rumours--but that detachment was sent to see how the former nobles fared, and the knights arrived after the lord and lady's deaths were discovered." Mark cleared his throat and finished the last of his wine. "Think, Raven. What purpose would it serve Ostia to have them killed? They have already paid for their crimes."

"An example."

"Of what? Cornwell had--and still has, I daresay--many friends in the League; it must have been more than hard for Lord Uther just to take away the lord and lady's rank and title, much less order for their execution. Uther is not a man who would sink to such foul deeds."

"I see," was all Raven said after a long moment of silence. "So what exactly _did_ happen to Lord and Lady Cornwell?"

Mark gave him an apologetic look. "I am sorry, Raven, but I honestly do not know who killed them, if that is what you want to know. What I can tell you is that their deaths were not caused by an outsider's hand, that is for certain. The cause lies in that household."

Raven stared at Mark, who returned his gaze without flinching; there were no signs to show that the tactician had been anything but honest and sincere in their conversation. Raven was not sure what to make of this all; he felt some relief at finding some of the answers he wanted, but those answers merely pointed to new questions, and this did not sit well with him.

"Thank you for your time then. And the wine," Raven said as he rose to leave. He was unsure if he could maintain his calm facade much longer.

"You're welcome," Mark said in return, and Raven left the tent, heading for his post. He could not help replaying one particular moment in their conversation in his head as he walked, oblivious to his surroundings.

_Not caused by an outsider's hand._


	12. Chapter 12

**_Zornhut: Chapter 12_**

* * *

Author's note: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.

* * *

His friend was the first to break the silence. "It's starting to rain." 

He caught hold of the hood of his cloak and dragged it over his head. "Lucius?" he asked, turning slightly in his saddle to look at his travelling companion.

"I'm fine, Lord Raymond. No need to worry about me."

"We could stop and find shelter somewhere. I'm worried this rain might set off one of your fits."

Lucius smiled and shook his head. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm all right. The manor's not far off, so we might as well press on. A little bit of rain never hurt anyone."

"All right."

The two young men resumed their ride towards the small manor where the former lord and lady of Cornwell now resided, after the League of Lycia's decision to strip them of their title and seize most of their assets as the penalty for their crime of appropriating council funds.

Just weeks ago, both men were in Caelin where Raymond had spent his time in the guest quarters of Caelin's royal summer estate, with guards at the door under orders not to let him leave. His parents had sent him off there telling him that he was to be Cornwell's representative for the negotiations on a piece of land his father was interested in. He had no idea that he was on a false errand until he had arrived at the manor and was escorted into Lord Hausen's presence.

The first thing Lord Hausen had said to him was an apology for the deception; when he could only stare at the old man, not understanding, Lord Hausen smiled sadly and explained to him the real reason he was here. He had no idea what while he was on his way to Caelin, his parents were on their way to Ostia, to stand before Lord Uther and the rest of the members of the League of Lycia in trial.

"Then why am I here, and not at the hearing?"

"Your parents wished it. They did not want their son to share the shame of being put to trial before the council and to undergo the humiliation he does not deserve, as this was their crime. Not yours, Raymond."

"But I should be there!" He turned and headed for the door, but the guards moved to block the exit.

"Please, Raymond. I gave my word to your father that I would keep you safe here."

He had tried to argue, but Lord Hausen was adamant on him obeying his father's wishes and overrode all his objections. He had contemplated fighting his way out, but thought better of it; he was heavily out-numbered. As much as he hated to admit it, he had no choice but to stay.

After two weeks of worrying about the fate of his parents (and one failed attempt to escape), a rider arrived from Cornwell with a message from Hans, his old arms-master, stating that he and Lucius were to rejoin the now former lord and lady of Cornwell at one of their old manors as soon as possible.

He could not get out of the place fast enough. He did not even remember thanking Lord Hausen for his hospitality, but he was sure that Lucius took care of it. While on their journey to the manor, Lucius had asked him what he thought of the decision at the hearing.

"It's only peerage and property, Lucius. I don't care about those, I just want to go home."

His new 'home' was now close by, and he urged his horse into a faster pace the moment the manor came into view. Lucius followed not far behind; it was not long before they reached the building. A groom ran from the stables to open the gate for them, while a heavy-set man emerged from the main door, ready to greet them.

"Hans!" he greeted cheerfully, waving one hand as he dismounted and handed the reins to the waiting groom.

The arms-master nodded in return. "Welcome back, young master. And you too, Lucius."

The groom and another servant rushed to get his packs and to lead his horse and Lucius' to the stables. What he really did not understand was why most--no, all of them avoided looking at him. "Hans? Is something the matter?" he asked.

His old arms-master gave him a strange, almost sad look. "I think you'd better come with me, young master."

"Why? Where are my father and mother?"

"Please, young master. This way." Hans turned and walked away.

Confused, Raymond threw a glance at Lucius, but it was obvious from the puzzled expression on the other man's face that he was in the dark as well. Seeing no choice but to follow, Raymond trailed his arms-master as the older man led the way, with Lucius close behind.

The small group moved through the hallways and out of the manor via the back entrance, and headed for a grove of trees some distance away. Raymond grew even more puzzled. Why would Hans want him to go there? He tried to recall if there was anything important at the grove, but his only memory of the place was of him and Priscilla playing hide and seek there as children. There was nothing there but aspen trees, each carefully tended by groundkeepers, and--

Raymond froze.

He remembered that one day he could not find Priscilla; having spent almost an hour searching for her, he was almost in tears, worried that something might have happened to her. He had felt so relieved when she rushed out from where she hid and hugged him, a smile on her face, when he shouted that he had given up, please come out, this was not funny any more. And when he asked her where she was hiding all the time, she led him deeper into the aspen grove and showed him where, right behind a statue of an angel.

A statue, he recalled, that stood at the entrance to the family burial grounds.

"Hans?"

The man did not answer him, but merely walked on. Raymond stared after him for one long moment, then ran swiftly past the man and into the grove, following the small paved path that led to the burial grounds.

The first thing he saw when he reached the entrance were the two fresh gravestones in the very middle of the grounds. He walked slowly towards them, clinging to what he knew was a slim hope, but hope nonetheless, that those gravestones were not the ones he dreaded to find.

He came to a dead halt when he saw the names carved on the white marble. He heard footsteps behind him, Lucius' gasp of shock, and then Hans' voice.

"I'm sorry, young master."

He clenched his fists, struggling to keep his emotions under control. "Leave us," he commanded; his voice sounded strained to his own ears, but he no longer cared.

"Lord Raymond--" Lucius began.

_"I said leave us!"_

From the corner of his eye, he saw that Hans had caught hold of Lucius' arm; the arms-master was shaking his head. "I say we do as he wants for now, lad," the man said softly. Lucius looked as if he was about to protest, but that earned a sharp look from Hans, and the younger man gave in. Both of them walked away to leave him alone.

He waited for the sound of their footsteps to fade away before he dropped to his knees and stared blankly at the two white gravestones before him; one was carved with his father's name while the other, his mother's. He remained there for a long moment, unmoving, unable to accept the painful reality presented out before him. And when both his heart and mind finally accepted the truth, he did the only thing he could in his grief-stricken state.

Lucius and Hans had not gone far when they heard the scream of anguish and loss, shattering away the silence that had loomed over them all.

-----------------  
  
Wil scurried away from the cooking fire as fast as he could, once he was done with his task of gathering firewood. He looked around for any other errands to run, desperate for any excuse to avoid yet another one of Wallace's insane training sessions. He walked briskly to the healers' tents, hoping that one of them would have a simple task for him to perform.

"Lucius, Lady Priscilla," he greeted when he arrived and found his two comrades sitting around a smaller fire; a pot of tea was placed near it, in order to keep the tea warm.

"Oh, hello there, Wil," Priscilla said in return. "Have you seen my--I mean, Sir Raven?"

"Raven? I think I saw him leaving Mark's tent just a while ago. Why?"

"Oh, nothing really. I was just wondering, that's all."

"I think he's probably nearby. Want me to go look for him?" Wil offered, knowing that this particular task would let him escape Wallace's attention for at least an hour or two.

"He probably wants to be alone," Lucius said. "After all, today's the day--" The monk stopped, as if he had said too much. His cheeks flushed slightly as he reached for the pot of tea, avoiding the questioning looks from both Wil and Priscilla. Lucius poured the tea into two mugs and handed one to Wil. "Here. Now I'll take this one to Lord Raven--"

"Oh, I'll do it!" Wil said, and reached for the other mug before Lucius could protest. "Besides, I think you have someone to attend to!" he added, looking pointedly at Bartre not far away; the man was limping slightly as he walked towards the trio. "He probably wants you to take a look at his leg again. He's been complaining about it ever since he got the wound from that nasty wyvern knight."

"But I'm sure Lord Raven wants to be left alone--"

"It's all right, Lucius! It's not like he would hurt me! Well, not much anyway!" he said cheekily before he hurried away to where he last saw the mercenary, near Mark's tent. The tactician pointed him in the general direction Raven walked off to, and it was not long before he found the mercenary.

The man in question was in a small clearing not far away from the camp, sitting on a dead log with his sword in his lap, his right hand idly tracing the crude patterns on the hilt. To Wil's surprise, Raven was not wearing the usual scowl on his face, nor that impassive expression, but the mercenary now looked distant and perhaps somewhat sad, Wil thought.

His first impulse was to rush there and ask what on earth was the man thinking about, but fortunately he managed to curb that foolish impulse immediately. Raven had a temper and Wil had been on the receiving end of that far too many times; by now the archer knew that if he were to just run up to the man and start asking questions, it would earn him nothing but a sharp retort at the very least, or perhaps even a bloodied nose, what with the mercenary's rather hostile behaviour lately.

He circled around as quietly as he could, choosing to approach the man from behind. Once that was done, he walked towards the mercenary, treading on dry twigs and making lots of noise on purpose to announce his arrival.

-----------------  
  
"Here."

Raven stared blankly at Wil, and then at the steaming mug of tea offered to him before he accepted it. He took a quick sip, grimacing slightly at the heat.

"Lucius thought you needed it," Wil added as he sat down next to Raven, nursing his own mug of tea in his hands. "He's tending some of our friends' old injuries at the moment, or else he would have given this to you himself."

"And you came all the way here just to give me some tea?"

"Why not?"

Raven gave Wil a sharp look; the archer grinned nervously. "Hiding from Wallace and his training sessions again?" the mercenary guessed.

Wil's grin grew wider in an affirmative. "He'll never find me here!" he announced. The archer then downed a huge gulp of tea--or at least, he tried to. He ended up choking slightly, spraying a few drops of hot liquid in the air; the tea was still too hot.

"Idiot."

Wil wiped his mouth and managed a small laugh. "Well, you're pretty much back to your usual self."

Raven grunted in reply.

Wil cocked his head slightly to one side as he looked at the mercenary. "Yes, definitely. Everyone was worried about you for a while." The young man grinned again. "Well, not as much as 'worried about you' as 'scared of you' though," he admitted. "You were glaring daggers at everyone, including me--and everyone in the company knows that we're good friends!"

"Good friends?" Raven snorted. "I don't remember saying I even liked you."

"You haven't tried to kill me yet, so that must count for something, right?"

Raven grunted again, but this time, Wil thought that there was a slight tinge of amusement to the mercenary's wordless reply.

"See? And Sain insisted that I have no charm."

"Charm, no. Fool's luck, great quantities of it."

Wil laughed and absently scratched the back of his head. "Maybe. Jokes aside, I meant it when I said that a lot of people were worried about you. They're just afraid to ask." The archer drank from his mug again, and this time, the tea had cooled down enough for him to finish half of it in one long draught. "You know," he said, "you looked as if you were somewhere miles away earlier."

"Actually, I was," Raven admitted. He waited for Wil to ask more questions, or at least launch into a long one-sided conversation, but the archer kept silent and merely sipped his drink. Apparently Wil had been in the mercenary's company long enough to recognise there were times when he would tolerate the archer's mindless rambling, and times when he would not.

This evening was definitely the latter.

"When do you think we'll reach this shrine Lord Eliwood keeps talking about?" Raven asked, changing the subject of the conversation.

"What, the Shrine of Seals? Mark said that if we make good time, we'll probably reach there tomorrow afternoon. Say, do you know _why_ we're going there in the first place? I asked Lord Hector this morning, but he ignored me." The archer pouted. "No one ever tells me anything."

"No one ever tells you anything because you never stop talking long enough for them to actually tell you something."

"Raven? Are you telling me to shut up?"

"What do _you_ think?"

"I'll take that as a 'yes'."


	13. Chapter 13

**_Zornhut: Chapter 13_**

* * *

Author's note: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.

* * *

The outcome of battle at the Shrine of Seals was not exactly what Raven would call a victory. True, while the lordlings had managed to convince Bramimond to remove the seals on the weapons they needed and the company had no fatalities when they fought against Linus' army earlier, a great number of the troops suffered rather considerable wounds. The company's forces were now reduced to less than half of its usual strength due to the injuries sustained. The final surprise however, came when they exited the shrine.

Nergal had decided to pay them all a quick visit.

The man had laughed when he revealed that his power was back at full strength, and forced Ninian to come with him. Then Raven remembered that someone had yelled for all of them to take cover, before the bright flash of light blinded him. The next thing he knew was that Nergal had gone and with him, Ninian. Apparently Eliwood and Nils had tried to stop him, but Nergal's blast of magic had rendered them unconscious--and if Athos had not shielded them with his magic, they would have perished.

Raven's somewhat bitter mood had improved since then, partly due to the company's current respite from travelling. Mark had ordered for a much-needed rest, so the company decided to camp near a small town for the past few weeks so the troops have time to recover from their injuries and restock on provisions. However, the mercenary's improving mood was largely due to one reason: the absence of Hector.

The Ostian lordling had departed for an archipelago west of Elibe called the Western Isles in search of a magical axe, now that the magical seals on all the legendary weapons have been removed. Hector's absence allowed Raven to think more clearly on the case of his parents; the lordling's mere presence, Raven privately admitted, had the unfortunate effect of annoying him. While Raven was now willing to give House Ostia the benefit of the doubt and that Ostia had no hand in the death of his parents, Mark's story had not much effect on his personal opinion of the Ostian lordling.

He still did not like the man very much.

He had spent the past few days servicing his equipment; he repaired the broken links in his mail armour and replaced the buckle and leather ties on his swordbelt. Once that was done, he then turned his attention to Priscilla's gear. His sister was too engrossed in helping out with the injured and studying magic to settle small errands like replacing her horse's tack and since he had not much else to do, why not do it for her?

As he worked, he contemplated all the possible explanations for the death of his parents. One by one, he studied each scenario as thoroughly as he could before he dismissed them all as unlikely. He simply could not come up with anything that fit in with what he knew, unless--

_No, that is not possible_, he thought sharply, and promptly dismissed that unpleasant explanation from his mind. He tried to, at least. It still pestered him the whole morning and finally he decided that another talk with Mark might be of some help in clearing his doubts, and headed for Mark's tent.

He moved the tent flap aside to find that the tactician had company; Merlinus and Wil were with him. The merchant and the archer were sitting near Mark, who was the very picture of gloom with his elbows resting on the makeshift desk, his head cradled in his hands and his face the most dejected of expressions as he stared at some books laid before him. Curious, Raven stepped inside the tent.

Mark did not even bother to see who had entered when he snapped, "If you're here for some money, forget it!"

Raven blinked.

"Uh, Mark," Wil said, tapping the tactician lightly on one shoulder, "I don't think Raven is here for that."

The tactician looked at the new arrival and promptly cringed. "Oh! Sorry, Raven. I thought you were--oh, never mind." He sighed and went back to staring at the books in front of him; accounts, Raven observed, as the mercenary approached the seated trio.

"Don't mind him," Wil said, grinning, "he's just a little depressed over how little money the troops have right now." A groan from Mark confirmed Wil's statement. The archer's grin grew wider before he continued, "Of course, Bartre barging in here earlier demanding for higher pay didn't improve his mood one bit."

Raven frowned. "I thought Lord Eliwood told him to forget the idea."

"He did, but I suppose Bartre is not giving up just yet."

Mark gave another sigh before he slammed his account books shut with a loud thump, startling Merlinus. "Oh, he won't bother me with it anymore. I told him that if Lord Eliwood said no, then it's the end of it." He paused before he added with a slightly embarrassed look on his face, "Well, actually I had Oswin tell him."

Wil snickered. "Oswin? Why?"

"Because Bartre's bigger than me, but Oswin's much bigger than he is."

Both Wil and Merlinus broke into laughter. "You had Oswin do that? I never thought you were this timid," Wil said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

"Whose side are you on, exactly?"

That sent Wil into another fit of laughter while Mark gave him a look that was slightly tinged with irritation. Apparently there were limits to the tactician's patience after all, Raven thought.

Mark sighed and turned his attention to Raven. "So what can I do for you?"

Raven had intended to discuss his parents' death privately with the tactician, but since they had company at the moment he settled for asking another question that was on his mind. "When are we leaving camp?"

Mark looked at Merlinus. "When did you say those supplies will come in?" he asked.

"Four days," Merlinus answered. "Trying to find enough to feed a whole company is tricky--the nearest town barely had enough for a third of us."

"We leave in five days, then. Eli--I mean, Lord Eliwood and Lady Lyndis could use the rest." Mark looked back at Raven. "Anything else?"

"Later, perhaps. I--"

Raven never got to finish what he wanted to say, for he was interrupted by the sudden commotion outside. Someone--probably Harken, Raven thought--announced that a message rider was heading for the camp before he heard the sound of footsteps and excited voices as some of the troops scrambled out of their tents to meet the incoming courier.

"More bad news." Mark's expression turned even gloomier.

Wil gave him a puzzled look. "How would you know? You haven't even read the message the courier's bringing in."

"No rider has brought me good news so far. I doubt that will change."

"Maybe it is not even a message. The courier might be someone who is bringing the company some funds from Ostia or Pherae," Merlinus suggested.

Mark immediately brightened. "Why, you could be right. Let's go and find out, shall we?" The tactician left his seat and stepped outside, while the other three men followed close behind, all of them somewhat amused with the tactician's sudden change in temperament.

About a third of the company--those who did not sustain any major injury during their previous battle at the Shrine of Seals--were already out of their tents and were looking curiously at the courier, whom had just rode into the camp. The tired-looking man dismounted and gave the reins of his exhausted horse to Dorcas, who led it away for a much-needed rubbing down and a good drink of water.

"Over here!" Marcus called to the courier; the knight was standing at the entrance of Eliwood's tent and holding the tent flap open, indicating with a nod that the courier should enter.

"Hmm. No sign of purses filled with much-needed gold," Mark observed, somewhat crestfallen. "Well now, let's see what word did our messenger bring." The tactician walked towards the tent and followed the courier inside. Marcus then stood guard at the tent's entrance with a firm look on his face that expressed his opinion that everyone else should just mind their own business--at least for now.

"You know, Raven," Wil said, gazing in the direction of the tent, "I would really like to know what's going on in there."

Raven nodded. "As do I."

----------------------------------

Mark stepped inside to find that Eliwood and Lyndis were already seated; the former looked slightly pale in his blue shirt, while the latter was dressed in a simple sleeveless robe. Her right shoulder was no longer swathed in bandages, but it was quite obvious she was still favouring the injured limb. 

"Please, take a seat, both of you," Eliwood said, gesturing towards two stools nearby.

"Thank you, milord," said the courier in his gruff voice, "but my orders were strictly to deliver this missive and then leave." He opened his leather bag, took out a sealed parchment and handed it to Eliwood. "I am not required to wait and return with a reply."

"I see. Well then, ask someone in the camp to get you a warm meal. And please, you should stay the night at least--you need the rest, and so does your horse. I'm sure you can find a place by the fire, if there is no more room in one of the tents."

"As you wish, milord." The courier moved one step back and nodded in respect before he turned and left the tent.

Mark sat down and eyed the unopened missive; the seal on the parchment had the mark of Hector's signet ring. Eliwood broke the seal open and read the message in silence for a few moments before he spoke. "It's from Hector," he said, "and he needs our assistance."

"Is he in trouble?" Lyndis asked, concerned.

Eliwood frowned. "Not exactly. It says here that he wants us to send two of our strongest to assist him in some sort of trial. He needs to pass this trial and negotiation of strength in order to obtain Armads--that legendary weapon Athos mentioned to us." He then handed the parchment to Mark.

"Well, it's settled then. Tomorrow morning we will--"

"Excuse me, milady, but 'we'?" Mark interrupted.

Lyndis looked at him in surprise. "Why, I shall be the one to go, and Eliwood too, of course."

Eliwood nodded. "I agree."

"I am sorry, milord, milady," Mark said, "but neither of you are going."

Both lordlings stared at him in disbelief. "Why? Hector needs us, Mark! We should be there--we are his friends!" Lyndis protested.

"I am sorry," Mark repeated, more firmly this time, "but as I said, neither of you are going." He added in a much gentler tone, "Both of you are still recovering from your wounds. I do not think you are fit enough for the ride to the Western Isles, not to mention this trial of strength Lord Hector mentioned."

"I'm sure Serra or Lucius can take care of that. All they need to do is use a healing staff on us--"

"Milady, we agreed that the healing staffs are to be used in combat only. The healing powers of the staffs we have right now are almost depleted, and we must conserve their use until we can obtain some more. I cannot risk having the healers using them on you--we might encounter enemy troops later and have no healing staffs left to use in battle. Our supplies of vulneraries are low."

"But Mark--" Eliwood tried to argue, but the tactician did not let him finish.

"Are you satisfied with my performance so far, milord?"

"Well yes, definitely, but--"

"In that case, milord, you will not question my decision on this matter. Right now it is in everyone's best interests that I do not allow you to go to assist Lord Hector in that trial of strength. Now if you will excuse me, I need to inform the company of this and make some arrangements." Mark stood up and bowed slightly before he left the tent, leaving two surprised lordlings behind him.

_Now I know why all tacticians have to wear these silly robes. It's so other people can't see how badly your knees are shaking when you have to make decisions you know your employers won't be happy with._

He stepped out of the tent to find a crowd waiting for him, obviously anxious to know the news. "All right," Mark said, "Lord Hector needs two of you to join him in the Western Isles in a trial and negotiation of strength." He held his hand up, motioning for silence as assorted volunteers expressed their intention to go. "I've already made my decision as to who is going, so _please,_ calm down."

He looked at the faces before him for a long moment before he finally announced, "Harken and Raven will go."

----------------------------------

Raven stiffened. Why him? Of all people, why him? 

"Both of you can fight in both long and close quarters," Mark continued, almost as if he was reading Raven's thoughts, "and both of you do not have any major injuries. Get your things ready and see me after supper. I'll have sorted out your travel arrangements by then. You leave first thing in the morning." Finished, the tactician nodded in dismissal and headed in the direction of his tent, presumably to start working on those travel plans he mentioned.

Wil clapped Raven's shoulder. "Why the long face?" the archer asked, grinning. "Me, I'd be thrilled to go!"

Raven glared at him. "Shut up."

----------------------------------

Marcus walked briskly towards Mark's tent. He had heard earlier from his position at the tent entrance how the tactician had disagreed with Eliwood and Lyndis, and did not allow them to go to Lord Hector's aid. The two lordlings tried to object, but the tactician stood firm on his decision--something Marcus agreed with. The cavalier knew that his lord was still not fit for any hard travel, much less battle, and although it was indeed something hard for Eliwood to accept, Mark's decision was, in Marcus' own opinion, the correct one. 

"Yes, Sir Marcus?" the tactician asked when Marcus stepped inside the tent.

"I… I just wanted to thank you, Mark."

The tactician blinked. "What on earth for?"

"Your decision not to permit Lord Eliwood to go to the Western Isles. He still has not recovered completely from those wounds he took in our battle against that Linus Reed. He does not show it, but I know that even moving causes him some pain. The same for the Lady Lyndis."

"I wish I could accept your thanks, Sir Marcus," Mark said, "but that was not the main reason I did not let them go."

Marcus was surprised. "It wasn't?"

"No." The tactician sighed. "As much as I hate to admit it," he said, his voice somewhat rueful, "Harken and Raven are excellent fighters, but they are also expendable. Eliwood and Lyndis however, are_ not _expendable. If both Eliwood and Lyndis go and something goes dreadfully wrong with Hector's trial of strength and none of them return, there won't be anyone left fit to wield one of those magical weapons we need in order to stop Nergal. And there where will we be?"

Marcus nodded in understanding. "I must say," he said, "I do not envy your position at the moment."

The tactician chuckled. "I know. And to think I took up this occupation because I wanted to get away from sheep."

_"Sheep?"_

Mark laughed. "It's a long story. Perhaps I'll tell it to you someday."

"Perhaps. Goodnight, Mark."

"Goodnight."


	14. Chapter 14

**_Zornhut: Chapter 14_**

* * *

Author's note: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.

* * *

Raven sorted the last of his gear and carefully laid his pack in his corner of the tent he shared with Wil, Rath and Dorcas before he eyed the rest of his belongings. He had packed only what he needed for what he hoped to be a short journey to the Western Isles; his remaining possessions would just have to remain with the company--Lucius would take care of them, or perhaps Wil--until he returned. And if he did not return--well, that was something he would rather not think about at the moment.

At least he got his pick of the company's arsenal of weaponry. Mark, in a rare gesture that went against his thrifty nature, had told both him and Harken earlier when they went to see the tactician for information on their travel, that both of them should take only new weapons. If their current sword or axe had even the slightest nick or gouge on its blade, it should be discarded in favour of a new one from storage. There would be no one to support them in their battle in the Western Isles, and they could not risk being reduced unarmed in combat should their weapon be rendered useless from damage.

"I can't spare much vulneraries for you, I'm afraid," the tactician had apologised, "we're low on supplies. I had Rath and Merlinus go to the nearest town to see if we could buy any, but either the storekeepers had none for sale, or charged a price we could not afford." He then gave them a copy of the map of the route they were to use and an introduction letter to the captain of the ship that would sail them to the Western Isles. Captain Fargus' ship was docked a good distance away at Badon, and Mark doubted the man could reach the port Raven and Harken were headed for in time.

"Pack only what you need, the journey calls for hard riding if you need to reach Lord Hector in time. You're both off guard duty. So get a good night's sleep--you leave first thing in the morning," the tactician had added.

_Oh, and say your good-byes._

Mark had never uttered the words, but both Harken and Raven had read the unspoken message from the look he had given them both before they were dismissed.

Done with his packing, Raven walked out of the tent and stretched, at the same time wondering if he should say his farewells; he had spotted Harken earlier in conversation with that lady knight, Isadora. Personally, Raven disliked saying good-byes--it reminded him of the day his parents said their final farewells to him. He never had much taste for them after that.

He strolled aimlessly round the camp--it was in his nature to be a little tense before an important journey, and he found that usually a walk helped in soothing his nerves enough for him to go to sleep. His walk took him around the outskirts of the camp and soon he found himself leaning against a run-down wooden fence that must have penned some farmer's livestock a long time ago.

He was still debating whether to go to Priscilla's tent to make his farewells when the sound of footsteps alerted him to someone walking towards him from behind; he turned to find his sister approaching him, waving her hand in greeting. Apparently she had made the decision for him.

"Shouldn't you be in bed by now?" he asked.

"Funny, I was going to ask you the very same thing," she replied, a grin on her face as she walked closer. "You are the one who has to travel tomorrow, and not I."

He chuckled. "You are just being stubborn."

"No more stubborn than you," she replied, before playfully punching him in the ribs, an act that she immediately regretted. She did not realise that her brother was wearing mail underneath his long coat until it was too late. "Ow! Must you wear that armour wherever you go?"

"Sorry, force of habit. I only take it off before going to bed. Are you hurt?"

"No, I am fine," Priscilla said as she rubbed her knuckles before she waved off Raven's attempts to look at her hand. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a small object before showing it to her brother. "Remember this?"

Raven stared at the small ring placed on her outstretched palm. It was a silver ring adorned with small engravings, some of which had worn off. The ring looked terribly familiar, but Raven could not recall where he had seen it before.

"You don't remember, do you," Priscilla said, slightly disappointed.

Raven shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"This is the ring you gave to me the last summer we spent together, before I was sent to Caerleon." Seeing a flicker of recognition on her brother's face, Priscilla smiled. "Here," she said as she took the ring and placed it into Raven's hand, "I shall lend it to you for a while. I want you to promise that you will give it back to me when you return from the Western Isles. Promise?" She continued smiling at him, but Raven could tell she was trying very hard to keep her tears at bay.

He smiled. "Promise," he said.

"Good." She hugged him; he returned the gesture.

"It's late," he said, patting her head in affection, "you should go to bed."

"You too. You have to leave early tomorrow." she replied, her voice slightly muffled, her face still buried in his chest. She tightened her embrace for a moment before she let go and looked at him. "One more thing," she said, her tone serious, "promise me you will not do anything foolish."

Raven felt a little puzzled at that remark, but since he did not want to upset his sister any further, he simply nodded. "All right, I promise."

Satisfied, Priscilla tiptoed and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, brother." With a wave, she ran back in the direction of the tent she shared with Rebecca and Nino.

Raven stared at the small ring for a long moment before he tucked it in his coat pocket. He decided that Priscilla was right and it was best for him to go to bed, and started to head for his tent. When he reached his tent he found that Lucius was waiting for him. "Lucius?" he said, "what are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to give these to you," Lucius said, handing a small pouch to Raven. "You might need them in the Western Isles."

Raven opened the pouch. "Vulneraries," he said, noting the two vials inside the pouch.

"Yes. Since none of the healers will be accompanying you--well, I just thought you should have them. I hope they will be of service."

He clasped his friend's hand. "Thank you, Lucius," he said, "I appreciate this."

"It's the least I could do, Lord Raven," Lucius said, smiling in return. "Get some rest. You will want to wake up refreshed for tomorrow's journey."

"Of course. Goodnight, Lucius. And thank you."

Lucius looked as if he was about to say more, but instead he just kept silent and nodded before he left. Raven watched the other man disappear into the night before entering his tent, and after his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, found that all his tent-mates were sleeping soundly, but for one. "Why are you still awake?"

Wil coughed. "I, I was going to fletch some arrows?"

"In the middle of the night with only that small lantern for light? You are one of the worst liars I have ever come across." Raven shrugged off his coat and placed it on his pack, along with the pouch Lucius gave to him. Next he took off his mail, then finally his aketon--the padded linen shirt he wore underneath the armour. His bedroll was already laid out; Wil must have done it for him. "Well?" he asked, eyeing the archer.

"Well, Rebecca and I were talking earlier on how we weren't picked to go to the Western Isles, but you were, and so I thought that since we can't go, we should do something. So I borrowed Rath's horse and rode to the next town and--"

Raven sighed. "Is there a point to this story of yours?" he interrupted.

Wil gave a nervous chuckle. "Well, yes. Here," he said, giving a vial to Raven before he turned and started to wriggle into his bedroll. "It's nothing much, but it's all we could, uh, do for you. All the shopkeeper had worth buying was this antidote, and now I think I'll just go to bed since I'm pretty sure you're looking at me with that scary frown on your face--"

_"Wil!"_

The archer froze. "Yes?"

Raven shook his head and despite himself, he smiled. "Thank you."

Wil grinned. "You're welcome."

_-------_

Dawn arrived and as per his routine, Raven rose with it. Silently, he buckled on his swordbelt and headed for a clearing nearby for his early morning sword exercises. When he reached the clearing however, he found that someone else had use of it. He chose a spot where he could watch and yet remain unobserved, leaned against a tree and crossed his arms as he directed his full attention on Eliwood, who was going through his own swordplay routine.

At first Raven thought that Eliwood was unaware of his arrival, but apparently he was mistaken. Eliwood raised his rapier to his forehead in a quick salute and nodded in Raven's direction, acknowledging the man's presence before the lordling slid back into his routine.

A firm and quick lunge, then a guard stance before Eliwood sheathed his blade, ending his routine. The man took a few deep, calming breaths before he stepped out of the clearing and approached the mercenary.

Raven lowered his head slightly in greeting. "Good morning, Lord Eliwood."

"Morning, Raven. I didn't expect you to be up this early. Did you get enough rest?"

Raven nodded. "You have a good form, milord," he said, and he meant every word. Even though Eliwood's swordplay routine was somewhat marred in speed due to the man's injuries, it was obvious to Raven that Eliwood possessed good footwork and technique. He also wanted to change the subject, for he did not feel like talking about his impending departure.

"Thank you," Eliwood said, sounding somewhat pleased. A moment passed before he added in a more sombre tone, "I used to spar with my father each morning. He was the one who taught me how to use the rapier."

"Lord Elbert was a good man."

"Yes, he was." Another long moment before Eliwood asked, "Who taught you how to wield a sword, Raven?"

"My armsmaster." Raven did not see any harm in answering the question. Eliwood most likely asked it to distract himself from thinking about his father, anyway.

"I see." Eliwood sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "I think you probably well know that I wish I were the one to go to the Western Isles, instead of you."

"I understand."

Another pause. "Will you do me this one favour, Raven?"

"Of course, milord."

Eliwood looked at him, face-to-face. "Take good care of Hector," he said.

"... I will, milord."

The lordling smiled and patted his shoulder. "Thank you."

_-------_

"Who has the map and letter of introduction?" Mark asked. The tactician nodded in satisfaction when Raven patted his coat pocket. "Well, then." The tactician withdrew a pouch from the folds of his robe and handed it to Raven with a resigned look. "Here," he said, "some coin for the journey. _Try_ not to spend it all."

"Understood," Raven said, tucking the money pouch into his saddlebag. "We're ready to leave."

"Good luck then. Godspeed."

Raven nodded and mounted his horse, or rather, Sain's. The man had loaned his horse, a courser mount with an easy-going temperament, to Raven for the journey. "I am stuck here with these broken ribs for a while, so you might as well put him to good use!" the knight said when he had offered Raven the use of his mount, which Raven had gladly accepted. Priscilla had offered him her horse but Raven was unsure if the gelding was used to hard riding, something Sain's horse was more than familiar with, so he had opted for the latter.

He was not too excited about the notion of riding hard for most of the journey, but speed was of importance. The pegasi were not too comfortable with the idea of having two male pillion riders for a great distance, while the company's two wyverns were nursing injuries of their own; a journey by horse was the only option left.

Both Eliwood and Lyndis were currently talking with Harken; the two lordlings had already spoken with Raven earlier, wishing him good luck with the journey. About half of the company were up to see both Harken and Raven off, while the rest were still bed-ridden on account of his or her injuries.

"Shall we?" he asked Harken, once the man had finished his conversation with the two lordlings.

"Let's." Harken nodded. Isadora had loaned him the use of her white horse; the animal snorted when he mounted, impatient to set off.

"Good luck, Raven! You too, Harken!" Wil yelled, grinning. Next to the archer were Lucius, Priscilla and Rebecca. Lucius nodded at him, while Priscilla and Rebecca waved, smiling, but Raven knew that both of them were not as cheerful as they seemed.

He raised one hand in a salute, and nodded once before he spurred his mount into a run, Harken following behind.

_I will return,_ he said silently. _I will._

_-------_

"You want to what?" Mark asked, gaping at the huge Ostian.

"I need to travel to the Western Isles as well," Oswin repeated, "I have an important message from Ostia for Lord Hector."

"Message? What message?" Mark grumbled. "When did it arrive?"

"The rider arrived before dawn. I met him while I was on guard duty."

"Why was I not informed?"

"You were in bed. And the message was of a personal nature, so I did not think I needed to notify you."

"Is this message of yours terribly important? Can't it wait?"

Oswin shook his head.

Mark sighed. "And just _how_ will you get to the Western Isles?"

"Marcus has agreed to lend me his horse. If I ride now, I can still catch up to Harken and Raven, and continue there together. I--"

"Fine."

Oswin blinked. "Pardon?"

"Fine," Mark repeated in a resigned tone. "Go quickly, before I change my mind. Just don't tell Lord Eliwood and Lady Lyndis you're leaving, else they start packing and wanting to ride off with you."

"Thank you." With a curt nod, Oswin turned away and walked to where Marcus was waiting, with his horse saddled and ready to ride.

"Where's he going?" Wil asked when the archer arrived moments later, just in time to see Oswin riding off.

"After Harken and Raven. Apparently he has a message to deliver to Lord Hector."

Wil brightened. "Hey, maybe I should go too! I'm sure Rath will lend me his horse!"

"You," Mark growled, "are _not_ going anywhere. I don't want any more men riding off to the Isles, I need all of you here."

"But you let Oswin go!"

"Only because he's got an errand to run."

"What, that message?" Wil made a face. "That's not much of a reason."

"No, not really."

"What?" Wil stared at the tactician. "Then why did you let him go?"

Mark shrugged. "I have a feeling he'll end up going anyway, with or without my leave. So I might as well be gracious about it and let him go, and then he'll think that he owes me a favour."

Wil chuckled. "There's also the fact that he's much bigger then you are."

Mark made a sheepish grin. "Precisely. Now help me distract Lord Eliwood and Lady Lyndis until evening so they won't notice that Oswin's missing. It would be too late to go after Harken and Raven by then."

"But what if they do notice?"

"Then you can help me sit on them so they won't leave as well."


	15. Chapter 15

_**Zornhut: Chapter 15**_

* * *

Author's note: _Zornhut_, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark. 

Haven't updated this in a while now, have I? (sheepish) Will fix the quirky formatting of the earlier chapters later; in the meantime, enjoy this new chapter.

* * *

The young man took after his mother, Oswin decided. He had the lady's red hair, hair a shade slightly darker than that of his sister's. He had also inherited his mother's features; the reddish-brown eyes, the ruler-straight nose and the firm mouth, which rarely smiled. Not that the lad smiled often, even as a little boy, Oswin remembered from his brief station at Cornwell. The few occasions when he did see the boy smile was when in his little sister's company, whether when they were playing in the halls, or out wading in the shallow creek near the castle grounds, with the boy always keeping a watchful eye on his younger sibling. 

He certainly had grown up to be a fine young man, comely indeed, and comelier still if it were not for the seemingly permanent scowl on his face. Oswin guessed--correctly, had he known--that the young man had adopted the scowl primarily to make himself look older, for most employers do not care for fresh mercenaries; the fact that the scowl also deterred anyone from approaching him was probably an unexpected, but quite likely a welcomed effect.

After all, it certainly worked with Oswin himself; he certainly had no desire to be anywhere near the unfriendly-looking mercenary when the man was first recruited. It was only after Marcus mentioned the incident at the small farming village did he take a bit more interest in the man the company knew simply as Raven, for that incident revised his opinion that the man was nothing more than a regular sell-sword. Regular sell-swords, Oswin had observed in all his years, never got involved in anything that did not gain them profit in any form.

At first it was only simple curiosity, but Oswin's interest in the mercenary increased after he realised that there was something familiar--something he should in fact, know--about the man. He had tried observing Raven from a distance, hoping that the mercenary's actions would trigger his recollections, but to no avail. He then put the whole thing down as nothing more than a mere fancy--or perhaps the man did remind him of someone--but it probably was nothing important.

It was only when he spoke with Priscilla about the fate of the girl's parents did the answer come to him, although at first he was not too sure that the thought that occurred to him then was in fact, the truth. Priscilla certainly had an older brother, but that alone certainly did not make every single red-haired young man the company came across as him, Oswin thought, especially when the young man in question was not in Priscilla's company often. If the mercenary was indeed her brother, surely he would try to spend as much as time as he could with his long-separated sister, Oswin had deduced.

Still, Oswin had kept the speculation in mind, only to find it proven one night in camp when he had spotted Raven glaring daggers at Sain, who was trying to persuade Priscilla to dance with him. It was the one time when he could actually look at both Priscilla and Raven closely, and he saw the resemblance to their mother they shared. And amusingly enough, Oswin thought to himself, it was Raven's glare that made him sure of the fact that the two were indeed, the siblings from the fallen House Cornwell.

The glare he recalled, was almost the same as the one Raven, or rather, the child Raymond had given to another boy a long time ago. That other boy was a son of a visiting lord, whom had bullied Priscilla to tears, only to back away when Raymond had arrived in rescue of his little sister. Raymond's glare had driven the other boy a few step backwards, but that was not enough and the two then had resorted to fists.

Oswin also recalled with much amusement that the Cornwell knights had not rushed in to separate the two boys until _after_ Raymond had a few good hits in.

Raymond--no, Raven, Oswin reminded himself--now rode at the head of the small group of travellers; Oswin rode in the centre while Harken brought up the rear. Oswin had joined them last night. It was fortunate that the other two men had decided to stop for a while to let the horses rest and drink, or he would not have caught up with them. Harken was surprised to see him arrive, but the man did not mind the additional travelling companion.

Raven had simply shrugged and said nothing. However, Oswin surmised that by the stubborn set of the mercenary's shoulders and by how the man simply refused to look at the Ostian man-at-arms throughout their whole journey so far, Raven certainly did not share Harken's sentiments.

"We should stop soon," Harken yelled from the rear of the small convoy, interrupting Oswin's thoughts.

Raven slowed his horse from a full gallop to a more sedate canter, and then to a full stop, allowing the other two men to catch up to him. "We've still a few hours of daylight left," he said, frowning slightly. "We should press on."

"Not with that weather," Harken said, looking at the dark clouds in the skies ahead. "I've travelled through this region before--you do not want to ride in one of the storms here. The rain's so heavy you can barely see where you're going. We'll need to find shelter."

"We ride on for about another hour, and then we'll camp," Raven said; Harken nodded in agreement. "Do you know of a good place to stay for the night?"

Harken kept silent for a moment, thinking.

"Perhaps there's something marked on the map," Oswin suggested.

"Hmm." There was a slight touch of irritation in Raven's response, but he said nothing more as he retrieved the map Mark had given him. He unrolled it and studied it quickly before he said, "There should be a cave some distance ahead. It says here that it's frequently used by travellers as a shelter."

"I hope there's enough room for us and the horses," Harken remarked before they moved on.

The cave, it turned out, had more than adequate room for the whole party. The horses were quickly led inside and rubbed down; their sweaty coats needed to be dried, or else they would catch a chill in the storm. "I'll see to the horses," Harken volunteered. "Someone should go get water."

"I'll do it," Raven said, untying the waterskins that hung from his saddle. "There's a brook close by, according to the map."

"I'll go with you," Oswin said, earning him a surprised glance from the mercenary. "We'll need firewood," he added quickly.

Raven shrugged. "As you wish."

It did not take long for the two men to reach the small stream marked on Mark's map. Like the cave nearby, travellers made frequent use of it; one thoughtful traveller had even constructed a crude hold of firewood, made of strong branches and sticks to shelter a cache of dry wood from the elements.

Oswin helped himself to some of the firewood before he chopped down some tree branches with the small woodsman's axe he carried to replenish what he took. Occasionally he would turn away from his work to glance at Raven; the younger man remained silent as he filled the waterskins with water from the brook.

The low, rumbling roll of thunder in the distance interrupted Oswin's thoughts, as well as Raven's; both of them looked up to see a bank of dark clouds moving out of the western sky. Then again, they heard the dull roll of thunder.

"We should get back," Oswin stated, stacking the newly chopped wood in the crude hold.

Raven merely grunted in response as he filled the last of the waterskins. There was a long, awkward pause before he added, somewhat grudgingly, "Do you want help with the firewood?"

"No, I can manage enough for all of us," Oswin replied, pile of firewood in his arms.He walked closer to the other man, and then took a deep breath before he added, "Thank you for asking, Lord Raymond."

The waterskins dropped to the ground with a dull thud; Oswin only heard the quick, yet all-too-familiar sound of a sword drawn from its scabbard before he found Raven standing before him, the man's blade pointed at his throat.

"So," Raven said, "did Uther send you to finish me off?"

Oswin slowly shook his head. "No, Lord Raymond."

"Really?" He sounded sceptical, and Oswin did not blame him.

"I only wish to talk."

"Fine. Talk."

Oswin eyed Raven's sword. "Preferably without that pointed in my direction, milord."

Raven snorted and lowered his blade, but made no move of sheathing it. "And why," he asked, "should I believe that you won't try anything against me?"

Oswin met Raven's gaze. "I swear it upon my life and my honour that I will not raise my hand against you, Lord Raymond," he said solemnly. "I give you my word." Seeing a flicker of uncertainty in Raven's eyes, he added, "I'm sure you remember that even though my time in Cornwell was short, I served your father as best as I could."

He hoped that was enough to persuade the younger man. Fortunately for him, Raven seemed somewhat convinced with his arguments.

"I remember," Raven said after a long moment. "You served him well enough. All right," he said, grudgingly sheathing his sword, "you can talk, but I do not guarantee that I will listen."

"Thank you, milord."

"And enough with the 'milords', I no longer deserve that. Or have you forgotten, Oswin?" Raven moved to pick up the dropped waterskins. However, the younger man left his sword arm free of burden, Oswin noted, leaving the Ostian man-at-arms somewhat amused.

He did not reply to Raven's question; he doubted Raven wanted to hear it anyway. "I am here not at the request of Lord Uther, nor Lord Hector," Oswin began, "but I am here of my own choosing." He took a deep breath. "I want to talk to you about your parents."

"What's there to talk about?" Raven did not bother to hide the anger and bitterness in his voice. "They're dead. Ostia is responsible for that. That is all I need to know."

"You need to know the truth."

"The truth?" Raven snorted in derision and turned to walk back to camp; Oswin sped after him, barely remembering to take the firewood. Go home, Oswin," Raven said. "Go back to Hector and stay out of my way. I'm not interested in hearing any more of Ostia's lies."

"I talked to your sister, and--"

"You did _what?"_

Before Oswin could even blink, he found Raven's sword pointed at his throat again. It seems the mercenary was even faster than he previously thought.

"Does she know?" Raven growled.

"Know what, milord?"

"Hang it all, Oswin! Don't try to play the fool with me!" Raven snarled. _"Does she know?"_

Oswin took a deep breath before he nodded. "She knows they're gone."

Raven's blade wavered slightly, and for a moment Oswin thought he saw a faint glimmer of anguish in the mercenary's eyes. "I wanted to spare her that, at least," Raven muttered softly, but Oswin heard him all the same.

"You cannot hide it forever, milord," Oswin replied, his tone gentle.

"No, no... I suppose not." Some of the anger in Raven seemed to have died away, for he looked away and sheathed his sword. "So this is what she meant when she said that I was not to do anything foolish..."

"Lord Raymond?"

Raven ignored him. "We should get back," was all the younger man said before he resumed his interrupted trek back to the cave.

"I still wish to discuss the matter of your parents, milord."

"I know enough," was the curt reply.

"But Lord Raymond--"

Raven halted his steps and turned to look at Oswin in the eye. "Oswin," he said after a long, awkward moment of silence, "I swear on my life that I will not kill that fool of a lordling of yours. Will this satisfy you?"

Oswin stared at the mercenary; he certainly did not expect for this to happen. It took him some moments before he could answer. "Thank you, Lord Raymond."

"Good."

"But I still need to tell you the truth about your parents."

Raven's shoulders stiffened. "I already know the truth," he said, his tone solemn, before he walked away.

"Milord?"

Raven did not answer.


End file.
